


Running Out Of Time

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Depression, F/M, Mention of Suicidal Tendencies, Phone Calls, Post MJ, hello, inspired by adele, it's not as gloomy as the tags make it seems, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hello.” he says, a little tentative. “It’s me, sweetheart.”</p><p>The breathing audibly catches on the other end of the line, then there is a soft click and the line rings dead. He stares at the phone in his hand and then slowly places it back on the cradle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> First thing first, this story is dedicated to Chrisi who is always so lovely on twitter and ff and who always leaves long and detailed reviews.
> 
> This story will be in 8 parts, it is inspired by Adele's "Hello" and was supposed to be a one shot but took a life of its own. It will take the prompts' place for two weeks and will be updated from Mondays to Thursdays which should take us to the 24th so it's a countdown of sort until Christmas.
> 
> The themes involved in this story are canon compliant and, as such, can be disturbing. Read at your own discretion but there will be mention of drugs, suicidal tendencies, depression and torture. It sounds gloomy but I think it's not that gloomy. This is a story of rebirth. It's the season after all ;)
> 
> This is, very obviously, a hayffie story.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Do let me know what you think!

 

_Hello, it's me_  
_I was wondering if after all these years you'd like to meet_  
 _To go over everything_  
 _They say that time's supposed to heal ya_  
 _But I ain't done much healing_

It’s Peeta who tells him she’s not doing well.

To be fair, Plutarch has been hinting at it for a while now but Haymitch has been determined to ignore the tentative pleas for him to do something because the former Gamemaker is at the end of his tether with her. The Secretary of Communications and Effie aren’t truly friends, he’s just the guy Haymitch has tasked with keeping an eye on her. She doesn’t talk to Plutarch, she refuses his offers to help with jobs or money, and she generally ignores him when he tries to talk about her health or frame of mind.

Haymitch knows all this, what he doesn’t know is what to do about it. She may not really like Plutarch but she hates _him_.

So he lets it slide, he pretends he doesn’t know, _doesn’t_ _care_. He pretends he doesn’t think about her at least once a day, between one glass and the next. He pretends he doesn’t pick up the phone and almost tears it off the wall a thousand times.

The phone rings sometimes but Haymitch often ignores it, tired of Plutarch checking up on him, tired of having to answer for Katniss’ actions. Katniss is doing as well as can be expected, she’s not killing random people in the street… It’s as good as can be. He would like to be left in peace, to try and forget the war like the kids are doing, to _rebuild_. He can’t. Every time he tries, Plutarch calls and throws him back into it with insensitive questions about how they are holding on in Twelve.

He wonders if that’s the way the former Gamemaker tries to get Effie to confide in him and concludes that it’s no surprise she deflects. He often muses that if people stopped asking how they are, they might have a chance at actually _getting better_. They don’t need the constant reminder, they don’t need to be treated like they’re made of breakable glass…

One night the phone rings several times and he ignores it, busy fixing up some food for the geese that are now residing in his backyard.

He knows he should have answered when Katniss shows up five minutes later, all grim face and hollow eyes. He slowly places down the bowl in which he has been mixing crumbs and grains and wipes his hands on the back of his pants, waiting for her to deliver the bad news.

He’s expecting something about the government or maybe Annie and little Finn – they’re all worried about how Annie is coping even with Johanna there to help, Jo isn’t mother material after all.

“Effie overdosed.” Katniss says, matter of fact, and the words ring in his ears for a long time after the girl is gone.

She’s not dead and that’s something, he supposes. He spends the night sitting at his kitchen table, staring at the green bottle of wine that shines under the flickering lights. He needs to fix the neon, he figures. He needs to fix a lot of things.

In the morning, the kids show up with fresh bread and goat cheese. Haymitch makes coffee and they share a silent breakfast. Everyone is tensed, moody. Peeta is the first one to suggest they should go to the Capitol.

“Katniss can’t.” Haymitch immediately counters.

“I don’t really want to anyway.” the girl adds. “You should go. Both of you.”

Leaving Katniss alone isn’t an option either though and Haymitch doesn’t think he will be welcomed. They don’t exactly decide Peeta is going but by noon his bags are packed and he catches the late afternoon train for Four where he will find a connection for the Capitol.

The boy heads straight to the hospital, assesses the situation and calls with news that aren’t completely reassuring. She’s awake and coherent but swears it’s all a misunderstanding, an accident of dosage with her sleeping pills. Peeta doesn’t actually say it but what he hints to Haymitch is enough. He doesn’t think it was an accident and it chills him to the bones.

Peeta leaves her hospital room’s phone number.

It takes him two days to work up the nerves to dial it. It rings and rings and rings and he hears the click of someone picking up just as he is about to hang up. He’s met with silence and labored breathing.

“Hello.” he says, a little tentative. “It’s me, sweetheart.”

The breathing audibly catches on the other end of the line, then there is a soft click and the line rings dead. He stares at the phone in his hand and then slowly places it back on the cradle.

_Well… This settles that_ , he thinks.

He wanders around his kitchen for a few minutes, a little lost and a lot restless. He picks up a bottle but puts it back down.

Ten minutes haven’t passed when the phone rings but he doesn’t even hesitate before picking up.

“Effie?” he asks.

He’s met with silence again, only soft ragged breathing. He licks his lips nervously, wondering how she even managed to call him back. Does she still know his number by heart? Has she hung up by accident before or has it been deliberate? No… No, it couldn’t be an accident, not when it has taken her ten minutes to call back.

“I just wanted…” he starts and falters. He was about to say he just wants news but that’s a lie, isn’t it? “I wanted to hear your voice.” he admits. “I kind of miss it. How stupid is that?” He snorts. “I’ve been meaning to call for a while but… You know I’m not good at keeping track of time. The more you wait…” He stops and swallows hard. “Guess I’m not good at keeping track without you to do it for me.” The silence goes on so he does to. “Wasn’t sure you would like to hear from me, to be honest.”

Her breath catches again. It seems quick and muffled and he wonders if she’s crying. He hates it when she cries, he has _always_ hated it even back when he couldn’t stand her…

“What did you do that for, now?” he chides her not so gently. “You could have died. Accident, my ass, sweetheart. _You_ don’t mess up by accident. _Ever_.”

“ _You left me behind_.”

How ironic is it that the first words she speaks to him in two years are the very same she has spoken to him last?

“I explained…” he tries.

“ _Again_.” she whispers. “ _You left me behind again. Alone.”_

He could argue that he has left her in Plutarch’s care but he knows that it won’t make much difference in her mind.

“You wouldn’t have come to Twelve with me.” he counters. “You hated me.”

_“I hate you_.” she confirms coldly and he closes his eyes.

The words are daggers that stab him in the heart. He doesn’t know when he has started to care about her, he only knows he was in the middle before he knew he had started. He realized he was in love with her in Thirteen, where the lack of her was almost worse than the lack of liquor, where the withdrawals didn’t come from where he had expected it to come.

He blindly reaches for the bottle abandoned on the kitchen table and takes a long mouthful. She must hear the splotch of liquor against the glass or maybe the _gulp_ of his swallowing because she chuckles. It’s all wrong. Bitter and sharp. _“I see you haven’t managed to shake out your demons. How hypocritical of you to deny me mine.”_

“Never tried to kill myself yet.” he mumbles.

He almost regrets the words but he has never been one to chide away from the truth.

“ _I didn’t… It was an accident.”_ she snaps.

“Sure.” he humors her. They remain silent for a moment and then he shrugs, forgetting she can’t see him. “Time’s not so much of a healer, right?”

_“No.”_ she grants. _“I just… I don’t want to be alone anymore. I have never been good at being alone.”_

“I can come.” he offers immediately. “We could talk.”

He doesn’t let himself linger on the thought of going back to the Capitol. The city isn’t what it was anymore. It’s a sad little thing now, according to Plutarch. Some Districts are developing into challenging megalopolis, Two and Three amongst them. The former Gamemaker is always insisting he would never recognized the place. Maybe it’s a good time to see for himself.

_“Peeta is here.”_ she counters.

“I know, yeah.” he answers. “Katniss would have liked to see you but…”

_“She called_.” she cuts him off and the clipping tone tells him the girl has called _earlier_ than he has and, as such, is forgiven her inability to be with her. Katniss and Peeta have kept in touch anyway. _They_ didn’t leave her alone.

“I wanted to come.” he confesses.

_“But you didn’t_.” she retorts.

“But I didn’t.” he sighs. “I’m not the bravest man, sweetheart. You know that.”

_“You are brave enough when it truly matters to you_.” she spits out. _“You were brave when it was about winning the Games to go back to your girlfriend and your family, when it was about fighting for the children or your rebellion. It’s_ me _you can never be brave for. It is not a stretch to understand it is because I don’t matter enough.”_

He’s tired and the conversation isn’t settling well with his stomach, he rubs his face and then brings the bottle to his lips again. “I think you got it backwards. It’s because you matter too much.” She doesn’t answer that, doesn’t believe him probably. “Peeta says you’re going to be in the hospital for a few weeks. I can catch a train tomorrow…”

_“No.”_ It doesn’t leave any room for arguments.

“Effie, they’re going to sever you from the pills. Withdrawals aren’t fun. You will need someone there with you.” he insists “Once you’re released…”

“ _Peeta said he would stay.”_ she cuts him off. _“I told him it isn’t necessary but he is adamant.”_ She waits a few seconds and then sighs. “ _I don’t want you here, Haymitch_.”

Deep down, he knew it would be her answer even before he made the call. That’s the reason he has been so reluctant to contact her in the last couple of years. He saw hatred in her eyes the last time they talked, a betrayal he would never been able to atone for.

“You’re a strong woman.” he tells her because it’s the truth. “One of the strongest I know. I just want you to remember this, alright? You can get through this. You can… You can learn to live again, find a good life…”

_“That’s a little hard to do when half the country hates me for being an escort and the other half hates me for betraying them.”_ she laughs bitterly. _“People want me dead. You should just have spared yourself the trouble and let me die in my cell. Or let Coin execute me.”_

“Don’t be stupid.” he growls. “ _Don’t_ ever say that again. Too many people died, Effie. Finnick, Prim… You owe it to those people to stay alive. What you did… What you tried to do with those pills, that was spitting on their grave. I won’t feel sorry for you because you’re alive, Princess. That’s a line I won’t cross.”

She’s silent for a while and when she speaks next he can hear the shame in her voice. _“You are right and I am sorry.”_

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t _fuck up_ again.” he says. “Don’t give up.” He closes his eyes and leans against the wall. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come?”

He doesn’t care if he sounds like he’s begging. He hasn’t seen her in two years and he really, _really_ wants to. He misses her. He misses everything from her annoying high-pitched voice to her soft skin.

_“I am certain_.” she replies and she _sounds_ certain, that’s the worst thing. She does hesitate for one second after delivering this blow though. “ _You may call again sometimes. If you wish.”_

“Tomorrow?” he asks, hopeful. It’s more than he has been hoping for, a fragile peace offering he is only too desperate to snatch.

_“In a few days, maybe?”_ she tempers.

“Yeah.” he agrees at once. “Yeah, sure. A few days.”

_“Goodnight, Haymitch_.” she sighs.

He wants to keep her talking because it’s too soon for goodbyes now that he has found her back but he knows not to push it.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he whispers.

He waits until the click tells him she has hung up before placing his own phone back in its cradle.

It feels like a victory and a defeat all at once.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello, can you hear me_  
_I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be_  
 _When we were younger and free_  
 _I've forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet_

Effie answers Peeta’s _goodnight_ with her own before stepping into her bedroom, softly closing the door behind her. It has become a routine but one she is already starting to get wary of. She offered the boy the use of her apartment while she was at the hospital but she was released a couple of days ago now and he has yet to talk about leaving for Twelve. Her apartment is too small for two people, it’s a matchbox really, a small bedroom and a smaller living-room with a tiny kitchen and a bathroom where you could barely turn around… It’s all she can afford now. She’s ashamed of it.

She’s been ashamed of a lot of things lately.

For her to become addicted to sleeping pills seems to have surprised a lot of people. She saw the headlines even if Peeta did his best to shield her from what the press has to say about her. People seem delighted by her fall from grace but she doesn’t expect any different.

She’s not ashamed because of what they write about her, she’s ashamed because their words are true. _Junkie, suicidal, disturbed_ … She denies them all every time someone throws them at her face but deep down she knows better.

It took weeks before the doctors agreed to release her, finally satisfied that she isn’t dependent on pills anymore, and it is only because of the boy’s insistence that she has gone through the trouble of cutting herself from them.

She knows why Peeta won’t go home, naturally. The boy knows her too well, he knows she won’t touch a pill while he’s here and she resents that, she resents that she is forced to once again put up an act, to hide behind the bubbly dumb escort who pretends she can’t even keep count of the number of pills she swallows to hide she has effectively tried to put an end to her pointless existence. Somehow, the act is superfluous. Peeta knows. He graciously allows her the pretense anyway, allows her these last fragments of dignity.

She curls up on her bed and listens to the noise on the other side of her bedroom door – the walls are paper thin, there are no keeping secrets from neighbors – she hears the boy settling in for the night on her lumpy couch, another thing she’s ashamed of, knowing he will wake up with a crick in the neck but won’t ever complain… Tomorrow he will insist on going to the park or in town and she will have to pretend she doesn’t see the dark looks people throw at her, doesn’t hear the muttered insults and otherwise enjoys the fresh air the outing provides. Peeta doesn’t like being cooked up in the apartment with her, he says it’s because she stays locked in there too long that she’s sad, that she _needs_ to go out to feel better.

He misses Katniss, she knows, she overheard him on the phone earlier. It has been two months since he last saw her. Young people in love don’t like to be separated and the two of them liked it less than any others. They’ve earned the right, she supposed.

Her hands run over the covers that are nowhere near as stylish as the silk sheets she used to sleep in and, without letting herself second guessing, she grabs the phone on her nightstand. She dials the number out of sheer memory and waits as it rings. She waits a long time. It’s late in Twelve, later than in the Capitol. He might be asleep or drunk or both.

He might not even be alone.

The thought is a maddening one and she prefers not to linger on it.

Eventually, he picks up with a grumbled string of curses about ‘ _fucking_ chairs in the _fucking_ way’. She imagines his house is in complete disarray and she almost tells him he should just start picking up after himself but she swallows back those words.

It’s still awkward.

Calling him, taking his calls…

It’s all very tentative, like walking on eggshells you do not wish to crush. They usually keep to neutral subjects like the weather, the birds in his backyard and the children. Sometimes she only bears it for a few minutes before hanging up. She doesn’t know why she does it, why she tortures herself with his voice when it would be so much easier to just sever all the links bounding her to him. Except she tried already, didn’t she? And it didn’t go so well… It’s easier to give up on the pills than it is to give up on him.

“Hello.” she says quietly. The line sizzles and cracks like it sometimes does when she calls Twelve. They still aren’t the most advanced District. Sometimes the calls don’t go through at all. She’s scared suddenly that tonight will be one of those nights, that she won’t be able to talk to him. She _needs_ to talk to him. “Can you hear me?”

_“Yeah.”_ he says. _“Yeah. The connection’s not so good tonight, sweetheart.”_

“Yes.” she confirms, disappointed. “I shouldn’t have called.” She doesn’t need _to_ _need him_. Only madness lies this way. She’s been there, she’s done that and she has crashed and burned. She knows better. And yet she can’t help closing her eyes when he speaks again because his raspy voice is a caress in her ear and she _craves_ it.

“ _Wait. Don’t hang up. Sweetheart, don’t hang up.”_ It’s broken and not as clear as she would have liked but she swallows and curls up tighter against the pillows.

“Alright.” she grants.

She’s so lonely… She has always been a lonely girl even in the middle of a crowd, but before the war she was good at distracted herself from that. She used to be good at finding friends, going to parties, dancing until dawn… The loneliness had still been there, yes, but it was muted, held at bay. Since the war… Nothing has been the same since the war. She’s a pariah now. And even with Peeta here… She enjoys the boy’s company but it’s not the same as someone she can be completely herself with, someone with whom she can afford to drop the mask because they have seen each other at their worst and there’s no room for judgment anymore.

_“You’re back home, yeah?”_ Haymitch asks. _“The girl said you were going home a couple of days ago.”_

He’s careful, attentive not to anger her. She doesn’t know if she likes this new tentativeness in their conversations. They have never been great at conversing anyway. _Shouting_ , yes. They have always been great at screaming matches but _conversations_ … Their bodies have always done most of the talking when it came down to important things.

He never told her he felt anything more for her than some sort of friendship but she felt it before the Quell. She felt it the last time they slept together. It was more _making love_ and less _sex_. Talking isn’t their thing.

“Yes.” she offers. She wonders what else Katniss told him. She wonders if he knows where she lives, how small it is and how close to precariousness and to needing public assistance she truly is. She has no way of knowing what Peeta shared with Katniss and she knows without a doubt Katniss would have told Haymitch everything she knows.

_“You’re doing good, I hear.”_ he insists. _“You’re doing good, right?”_

“I am not popping pills when Peeta’s back is turned if that’s your question.” she hisses petulantly, making sure to keep her voice low not to disturb the boy in the other room. If he is awake, there is no hope of entirely hiding that she is talking to someone but she hopes to keep the words muffled.

_“I wasn’t_ …” Haymitch starts defensively and then sighs. The line sizzles, covering his next words and she wonders if it’s such a bad thing.

“I didn’t hear.” she admits after a few seconds of hesitation.

_“I said I wasn’t accusing you. I know you, you’re pretty stubborn when you set your mind on something.”_ he offers.

She hauls herself from the bed and closer to the window. The view isn’t anything great and there is not much to see aside for a back alley with its generous number of overflowing bins and stray cats.

“I have been thinking lately…” she whispers.

_“That’s never good_.” he teases.

She smiles before she can’t stop herself and it freezes on her lips when she realizes what she has just done. Her fingers brush against her mouth. She tries to remember the last time she genuinely smiled at something and fails.

There is a sigh at the other end of the line amongst new cracking sounds. _“Put my foot in my mouth again, right? Look, sweetheart_ …”

“I have been thinking about before.” she cuts him off before he tries to deliver one of his weird and contorted apologies. She doesn’t want to admit to smiling at his joke. She doesn’t want to admit she might be forgiving him. She is not ready. “Before the war. Before the children. Do you remember?”

_“Not sure I’m following_.” he confesses.

She presses her forehead against the cold glass of the window. “I was so happy before I met you… It didn’t take much. Friends, some good music, fabulous dresses… Do you remember how beautiful I was?”

_“You’re still beautiful_.” he argues.

She scoffs at that. “I am old, _my_ _body_ is old. There are lines on my face and there are scars on my skin. I have become one of these old celebrities I used to mock.”

_“That’s harsh_.” he comments.

“That is the truth.” she replies. She could grant herself that, at least. “The Games… They changed things. I was never as happy afterwards, even with the friends, the parties and the dresses…” She closes her eyes, trying to recall happier times, trying to _feel_ that way again… “We had good times, you and I, didn’t we? We didn’t always see eye to eye that is true but there was a time, a couple of years, when we were happy together.”

Around the Seventy-first Hunger Games… It was less about sex then, it was more tender, fonder… She remembers smiles exchanged from opposite sides of the room, hands reaching out just to _touch_ the other, to make sure they were close… She remembers kisses that left her breathless and whispers in the dead of night… Never any love declarations but _secrets_ , things they had never told anyone else and probably never would. She remembers how it felt to fall asleep safely tucked in the curve of his body, her back pressed tight against his chest and her leg trapped between his. She remembers the burn of his stubble on her inner thigh and the occasional round of laughter that would make her pant for breath in the most undignified way. She remembers being young and drunk on love, staring at his grey eyes and not even caring if he loved her back or not because what he offered in those moments was enough.

It was easier before the world collapsed. She knows the change was necessary and she is happy about the lack of Games, she is happy about the freedom that was so costly to obtain but…

_“Yeah.”_ he breathes out softly and she can’t tell if it’s the line acting up or if he’s chocked up. She thinks it must be the connection. Haymitch isn’t the kind of man to get emotional over a woman. Not over _her_ , at least.

“I wish you had loved me.” she confesses.

“ _Sweetheart_ …” he rasps out.

She cuts him off, not in the mood for excuses or explanations and that’s not why she called him anyway. “I need you to talk to Peeta, to convince him to go home. Katniss needs him.”

_“How long will you last after he leaves?”_ Haymitch challenges.

“He can’t stay forever, Haymitch.” she huffs. “This is ridiculous. This couch is not good for his back, you know, and I am certain Katniss misses him as much as he misses her.”

_“He won’t leave as long as he’s not sure you’re going to be okay.”_ he replies and she can almost see the fatalist shrug of his shoulders.

“Then I need to invest in a new couch.” she scoffs. It’s a jest, of course, she doesn’t have the money for a new sofa. She barely has enough to cover the rent for the next three months. Then her savings would be entirely gone. What would happen next is anyone’s guess and makes her want to pop a couple of pills just so she can sleep and not worry about it.

_“I could come.”_ he suggests. _“If you weren’t alone, he would…”_

“No.” She shuts that down quickly and without any guilt. She doesn’t want Haymitch in her tiny apartment where there is no space and no room to flee heavy subjects that always seem to hang in the air between the two of them.

_“Okay.”_ he accepts easily but not without a touch of annoyance. It’s not the first time he asks to visit and it’s not the first time she refuses. _“Then I have another idea but you won’t like it_.”

“Well, to be fair, your ideas often tend to blow up in my face.” she chuckles bitterly.

This might be a little unfair. She’s certain if the connection hasn’t been so bad she would have heard the telling splashing of liquor.

_“There are a lot of empty houses in Victors Village.”_ he says flatly. _“The kids will be able to keep an eye on you, Katniss will have Peeta back, you won’t be alone anymore and finding pills around here without a prescription will be complicated enough that you won’t want to bother. Everyone’s happy._ ”

Her instinctive reaction is to refuse but then she pauses and glances back at the room she stands in. Her eyes quickly finish their inspection. There isn’t a lot to look at. Houses in the Village used to be rustic by Capitol standards but now… Now things are different and it would be closer to the train of life she’s used to.

“I don’t want to see you.” she says.

_“That’s the only thing holding you back?”_ he asks.

“Yes.” she answers truthfully.

_“Then you won’t have to_.” he promises.

She hears the hurt and the sadness in his voice but she pretends not to. She needs the distance. The distance is all that keeps her safe.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_There's such a difference between us  
And a million miles_

He watches from the upstairs guestroom window, hidden behind dusty curtains, as the other half of his team comes home.

He and Katniss have worked on making the house on the other side of the street livable for two whole days. He did his best out of a need to do _something_. He and the girl weren’t exactly perfect housewives but they managed well enough. The house is clean, aired and stocked up with food and anything she could need. Katniss lifted a suspicious eyebrow when he insisted on picking that particular house out of all the ones available but Haymitch played dumb.

Effie really doesn’t want to see him though.

It was awkward when Katniss told him she was going to the station and that he couldn’t come. It’s awkward still but Haymitch accepts it’s how it has to be for now.

He spots the kids first because they’re walking in front, huddled close together. Katniss doesn’t often hold Peeta’s hand in public so she must really have missed him. The boy looks good. He has two bags tossed over his shoulder and he is dragging a pink suitcase behind him, Katniss has the matching vanity.

He’s careful to remain behind the curtain as he leans closer to the window. She’s patting her hair when he catches his first sight of her in over two years. She’s wearing a pale blue coat that looks too thin and too old, her heels are as high as ever though. Her hair is flowing freely on her shoulders, impossible honey curls that he immediately wants to touch and cherish… She’s walking a few steps behind the kids and she doesn’t look entirely pleased when Katniss waves at her new house. She turns towards his and Haymitch knows he is busted when her eyes stop on the window he’s standing at. He’s pretty sure he’s invisible from the street but he’s also certain she knows he’s here.

He slowly steps back and wanders to his own bedroom where the only view is his backyard and the geese roaming freely outside. He busies himself during the rest of the day by strengthening the pen, pricking up his ears in hope of hearing her voice. It’s a little pathetic, he muses, probably just as much as the hope he can’t quite shake that she will eventually show up.

She doesn’t.

Peeta stops by long enough to greet him and drop a portion of stew because they’re eating at Effie’s that night. He thanks the boy for the food and doesn’t ask any of the questions he truly wants to ask. He’s miffed, maybe, even though it is his idea. Are they going to share the kids now? One night at her house and the next at his?

He has no appetite and he spends a lot of time dragging a potato around his plate with his fork. Food is too precious to be wasted though so he forces himself to eat. It’s cold and not exactly to his liking. He hoards the geese back in the pen for the night and gets into sweatpants and a long sleeves grey shirt, selecting a book from the shelves and a bottle of liquor from the cupboard. He’s about to settle on the couch when the phone rings and he picks up automatically, before he remembers no one he cares to hear will call him anymore.

He’s wrong of course.

_“Why this house?_ ” she sounds annoyed.

“Why not?” he retorts, just as shortly. Without knowing why he pulls on the cord as far as it will go. It takes him as far as the living-room threshold and he can see her own living-room through his window. All lights are on in her house and he glimpses her silhouette in front of the window behind the curtains. She’s pacing, probably agitated, certainly unsettled. It pacifies him a little. “It’s the closest to the kids’.”

She stops her coming and going and lifts her left hand in an helpless gesture, the base of the phone is dangling from her fingers. He wishes he could see more than her shadow… He wants to see her face, her eyes…

_“Still… It won’t make anything easier.”_ she sighs. She draws back the curtains abruptly and sits on the window seat. He’s too far to see her features. All he knows is that she’s wearing a crimson red dressing gown and that her hair is tied in a loose braid over her shoulder. _“You are watching me_.”

It’s not really an accusation, more of an assumption. His house is dark except for the kitchen, he doesn’t think she can see him. “My phone is attached to my kitchen wall, sweetheart.” he reminds her. He feels like a creep. That’s what she made of him. “Yeah, I’m watching you.” he admits, because he’s never been good at lying to her.

She rests her head against the window and he hears her sigh in his ear. _“This was a bad idea.”_

“I’m going to go back to the kitchen and I won’t do it again.” he promises. “Watching you, I mean. I just miss you, that’s all.”

He wants her to have a shot here. She deserves a shot at a new life, she deserves a second chance. He won’t jeopardize that for her.

“ _No, stay_.” she requests quickly. _“I… I like the idea that you are here, that I am not alone.”_

She’s peering at his house, he thinks as he leans against the doorframe. “You know, I could always… come over. Or you can cross the street.” He snorts. “Hey, sweetheart, let’s be crazy even… We can meet halfway.”

His joke isn’t welcomed with the chuckles he hoped for.

_“I can’t.”_ she whispers. “ _I can’t see you_.”

“Why?” he begs.

They have been talking regularly for two months now and it is going as well as could be expected given the situation. And yet she always keeps this distance between them and he is starting to realize it doesn’t matter if she’s in Twelve or in the Capitol, that distance isn’t going away. Miles or mere feet, it doesn’t make a difference.

_“Because I will either kill you or kiss you.”_ she says. _“I am not certain which.”_

It requires bravery to put yourself out there like that, to admit to feelings that have already been openly scorned in the past… He admires her for this, this capacity she has to _feel_ so freely, so fully, and to _express_ it. He never knows how to express his own feelings. Maybe if he did she wouldn’t be on the other side of the street.

“What if I’m ready to take the risk of you stabbing me with you stiletto?” he asks, only half-joking. She thinks she might be serious when she says she wants to kill him. Hatred will do that to someone, give them murdering urges, all the more so when the hatred is born out of love.

_“No.”_ she repeats.

“That’s your favorite word lately, yeah?” he mocks without much heat. “You’re right though. I’m not worth going to prison for.” He thinks about what he just said and shakes his head at his own stupidity. “Not twice anyway.” It only makes it worse and he stops talking to watch her.

She turns her back to the street and leans her back to the window, that’s all he can see.

_“I would have gone to prison willingly for you given the choice.”_ she says. _“Even at the worst of it, I still loved you. That’s my curse it seems.”_ She sighs. _“I can’t see you because I am lying. I know which it would be and I can’t be hurt like that again.”_

He closes his eyes and slides to the floor, relief and hope mixing in his chest. If she wants to kiss him then everything is not lost.

“You’re not the only one who got hurt.” he points out.

_“Yes, I know. Countless of others suffered, I was lucky. I should be grateful_.” she spits out with some spite.

“Not what I meant.” he counters with irritation.

“ _What did you mean then?”_ she snaps _“That my broken heart doesn’t compared to…”_

“You’re not the only one with a broken heart.” he cuts her off.

_“Your girl…”_ she starts and when he glances at her house he can see she started pacing again.

“Let my girl rest in peace, I’m talking about us.” he interrupts again. It’s the first time he uses an _us_ to talk about them. It leaves her speechless. “I lost you.”

_“You left me behind_.” she corrects. “ _Twice_.”

“Never said I was clever.” he snorts.

“ _How am I supposed to trust you again?”_ she asks. _“I can’t… I can’t even hate you properly. What have you done to me, Haymitch? I used to be independent, men dropped at my feet, I was… I was a queen and you made me a slave.”_

“Always a flare for the theatrics, I see.” he smirks with fondness. He likes it, he likes that she sounds like the old Effie, like the Effie he knows and loves and not the shell of a woman who has replaced it. She will break the shell eventually, he muses, it’s just a question of time. The Effie who will walk out of the wreckage won’t be the same she used to be but she will be close enough.

_“I am serious.”_ She sounds exasperated and he can hear the scowl in her voice. His smirk deepens. _“How am I supposed to see you and not… I’m so angry at you right now, I am so angry and yet I can’t… I will fall back in love with you. I will fall back in love with you and this time it will destroy me for good. I can’t go through that again. I can’t. Don’t ask it of me. Stay away, please. Please.”_

She’s so desperate, there is nothing he can do but yield. “Yeah. I’ll stay away. _Fuck_ , Effie, I’ll stay away, just calm down. Just…”

Her breathing is labored for a few minutes and he thinks she’s crying. It’s pure torture not to cross the street and offer a hug or… _anything_ really.

“ _Thank you_.” she mutters eventually. _“I still want to… You can still call me now and then.”_

It’s ridiculous to call each other when they could meet but maybe this distance the phone allows them isn’t such a bad idea after all. Maybe they need it.

“Okay.” he says. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

_“Goodnight, Haymitch.”_ she whispers.

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello from the other side_  
_I must have called a thousand times_  
 _To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done_  
 _But when I call you never seem to be home_

Living on the other side of the street from Haymitch proves not to be as much of a challenge as she feared because Effie hardly ever goes out.

She wanders to the children’s house and sometimes, if she’s feeling particularly adventurous, she will walk to the big fountain at the entrance of the Village. It’s not working properly, there is no water but it is full of leaves and rubbles, she sits on the edge and she stares at the huge iron gates and the slope that stretches behind them. She never ventures that far.

She thinks about Haymitch and his self-imposed solitary confinement all those years and she thinks she understands now.

There are a couple of other families living in the Village now but they either stay clear of her or leave her be. One day, as she strolls around the streets, she crosses past a mother with her daughters. The children are lively and unruly, they run after each other, they laugh and are so happy, it makes Effie smile. She never had the opportunity to behave like that in her youth and if the thought of little girls running wild would have shocked her in the past, now she is glad they can have the freedom. The mother smiles back at her with indulgence. It only lasts a second though. Then the woman furrows her brow and a spark of recognition flashes in her eyes. Effie quickens her pace but she still sees the protective arms the mother extends to bring back her children to her sides.

She doesn’t dare step out of her house again for three days.

Coming to Twelve was a mistake. There isn’t any more place for her here than there was in the Capitol. Nobody wants the former escort for a neighbor, the people she used to terrify even less than the ones she supposedly betrayed for the rebels.

Katniss and Peeta won’t let her withdraw on herself though. Every day one of them suggests a walk into town and, when denied, forces her out of the house to do something or other. She can’t say no to them. That’s how she finds herself starting to garden with Peeta – which isn’t such a bad idea because her front yard is a depressing sad little thing – she has never touch dirt willingly before and the sensation of burying her bare hand in the ground is new and not entirely unwelcomed. She decides she likes gardening, she likes the idea that she can do something with her hands, that some beauty will eventually come out of her efforts.

She doesn’t tell the children but she starts sketching clothes again. It has been a while since she last did that and she’s rusty but she sketches on every pieces of papers she finds and locks everything in the study.

One day, while she’s at the children’s house having tea with Katniss, an old woman shows up. Graesy Sae is all sharp bones as only someone who had a challenging life can be, her voice is hard and snappish and Effie understands at once that the old woman is the kind of person who doesn’t like nonsense. She doesn’t seem particularly happy to find Effie’s here but she’s not completely hostile either, she is _guarded_ rather. Katniss introduces them and Effie licks her lips, waiting for the harsh words someone from Twelve should have aplenty for her.

Sae looks her up and down, huffs, and declares that they need to fatten her up a little. Food, she quickly understand, is everything to the woman. She’s brisk and not exactly refined but Effie likes her. She’s invited to come to her restaurant and she promises to go but knows she won’t because the restaurant is in town and she can’t force herself to go there.

The old woman always comments on her not holding up to her word when they meet but Sae seems to understand and rarely pushes her. Maybe the children have explained or maybe it’s Haymitch. He seems to be a favorite of hers. She spies her visiting him from the window sometimes or patting his arm in the street.

In any case, Sae is the first friend she makes in Twelve. The woman proudly introduces her to her granddaughter who is still a child in her mind even at thirty and who will remain that way forever, no explanations are offered but Effie doesn’t need them. People like her are put in institutions in the Capitol but Nae is so lovely she is glad they’re _not_ in the Capitol.

She visits their house sometimes and they visit back.

She still doesn’t dare wandering further than the big fountain. No one else living in the Village is going out of their way to be neighborly and she starts to understand why Haymitch chose that particular house. Maybe he wants her in her line of sight just in case anything happens.

Haymitch is awfully good at avoiding her.

They never meet at the children’s. They wordlessly have settled into a routine. She visits in the morning and he stops there in the afternoon, they have dinner with them every two days. She wonders if that’s how divorcee parents feel. She’s not sure she likes it. Katniss and Peeta certainly don’t. They hint every day that Haymitch is sad and unhappy and sorry and that he would love to see her… She’s still not ready, still not sure that’s what she wants. She’s trying to get her life back together and she doesn’t know where he should feature in it, where _he_ _wants_ to feature in it.

One day, they step out of their houses at the same time.

The street isn’t narrow but it isn’t wide either. She can see the new lines at the corner of his bloodshot eyes, the pronounced tremor in his hands and the unhealthy yellow tinge of his skin. He stares back at her, devouring her with his eyes like he is starving, and then slowly he turns and walks back inside, allowing her to make the trip to the children’s.

She’s disappointed.

She chides herself over that.

He’s out of liquor, Katniss confides later, waiting for the next train.

She calls him later that night.

“ _Not a good night for a chat, sweetheart.”_ he says in place of a hello. He sounds agitated and restless and she hears the faint banging of glass and the scraping of chairs.

“Sae gave me some apple liquor.” she sighs. “I will leave it on my porch. Try not to drink everything at once.”

It’s not strong as far as liquors go and the bottle has barely been touched. Sae stopped for a nightcap the other day but Effie is wary of another addictive substance. She thinks it might have been a way for the District woman to force her confidences. She is curious about her relationship with Haymitch, if anything she’s even less subtle than the children when she hints that the victor is unhappy. _Pinning_ is the word she used but Effie tried to ignore it.

He hangs up before even saying thank you.

She has barely closed her front door when she hears him tumbling out of his house and hurrying to hers. She leans against the wood panel while he picks the bottle up. The door rattles and she figures he has leaned against it too. She listens to his ragged breathing wishing she didn’t lack the courage of opening the door, wishing she was braver. She’s still scared.

She waits for him to speak but the door rattles again and she knows he’s gone. She wanders to the living-room, picks up her notepad and mindlessly goes back to sketching a skirt with feathers. She regrets never showing her sketches to Cinna because he would have given her an honest opinion. She feels self-conscious about her designs, her mother used to criticize them all the time when she was sixteen and expressed an interest in fashion. Then she became a model of course and designing clothes took a seat back. She has never quite stopped but that was more of a hobby, not something she would have dared voice out loud. She has never actually created one of her designs and, for the first time, with too much time on her hands, she wonders if maybe…

The phone rings after fifteen minutes and she reaches out to pick it up from the floor where she has left it. She likes sitting on the window seat and looking out in the street where nothing much ever happens.

“Hello.” she answers, peering at the house on the other side of the street. It’s dark, probably because he is in the kitchen. She keeps the lights on everywhere which she will probably regret when the electricity bill would come up – if she even receives a bill, she doesn’t pay a rent for this house, people in Twelve seem to consider the Village belongs to everyone who wants it – but she can’t stand the darkness since her time in the cells.

_“Thanks_.” he says.

“Are you drunk yet?” she asks, more amused than she should be.

_“No. Just took enough to stop the shakes.”_ he sighs. _“I’ve been trying to… Well, not cut out but… You know. Keep it a little more under control. I ran out of booze two days ago.”_

“That’s good.” she hums. “Trying to slow down your consumption, I mean, not running out of liquor.”

His living-room suddenly lights up but she can’t see him. The cord probably doesn’t stretch _that_ far.

_“Became friends with Graesy Sae, did you?_ ” he snorts. _“She doesn’t share her apple liquor with just anyone. She must like you.”_

“She is friendly.” she smiles. “I like her very much. She takes very good care of Katniss from what I saw.”

_“Yeah, she has a thing for strays.”_ Haymitch snorts and there must be a story there but he doesn’t expend. _“What have you been up to then?”_

“Not much.” she confesses. She has been in Twelve for a whole month but it doesn’t feel like much has changed except the scenery. “Peeta and I are planting seeds. I want flowers, _colors_. I used to be good at colors… I am tired of seeing everything in grey.”

There is a short silence and she can tell he’s deliberating what he wants to say. _“I saw_.”

“Watching again?” she teases. Three months earlier, it would have been a taunt, full of resentment and accusation. Now… Now she doesn’t know but her voice is light and she’s more amused than irritated.

_“Can’t help it, can I?”_ he sighs. _“I_ fucking _miss you. I’m at the point I could give up the booze just to… I want to touch you.”_

Amusement fades into panic. It’s not that she doesn’t like what she hears but she knows she will never be able to resist it and… They were toxic. _Unhealthy_. She can’t fall back into that pattern of sex frenzy, she can’t afford not to be good enough anymore. She wants to be loved completely or not at all. She can’t be second best, she can’t be just convenient, she can’t be a way to say _fuck you_ to the Capitol. She can’t. She won’t.

“Haymitch.” she begs.

_“Not like that.”_ he growls. She should be surprised he follows her line of thoughts but she isn’t. He’s good at that, guessing what’s inside her head. _“Just… Look, it’s stupid, I need to hold you. So bad. No funny business just… I_ need _to hold you.”_

She wonders if he would have dared voice that if there hasn’t been a street between them, if he would have dared tell those words to her face. Probably not.

The thing is… _He_ needs to _hold_ her but _she_ needsto _be held_.

“I called you.” she blurts out against her best intentions.

He’s taken aback by the change of topic, she can tell. _“When? Earlier? Went to the Hob for a while.”_

“No…” she answers and her mouth is dry. “Before. I called a thousand times and you never picked up.”

_“I…”_ he starts but she doesn’t let him finish.

“I called before I took the pills.” She rushes the words out, thinking it would be easier that way, like ripping off a bandage.

“ _Fuck, sweetheart…”_ he breathes out. The guilt in his voice makes her close her eyes.

“I wanted to apologize.” she whispers. “For… Well, everything, I guess. For reaping those children, for the Quell… I… I thought it was going to kill me when I called your name, you know. I had nightmares for weeks about that very thing and when it happened, I thought…” She takes a deep breath and rubs her face. “No matter. I wanted to apologize for what I said after the war too. You made sure I would be safe after I was rescued, I understood that, I just… I was so angry and I needed… I needed an outlet. You let me down when you didn’t bring me with you to Thirteen.”

_“They were supposed to get you out.”_ he says tiredly for what must have been the thousandth time. _“I know it’s not… I know it’s not good enough, Effie. I know. I should have kept you with me. I thought you would be safer with Plutarch’s agents, I thought… I should have kept you with me and I’m sorry.”_

“I know you are.” she offers. “I _knew_ you were, after the war. And I could have gotten past this, I think, but then you went and left me again… No goodbye. You didn’t even…”

_“You didn’t want to see me.”_ he reminds her.

“You didn’t fight for me.” she snaps. “You didn’t even _try_. I’m never worth fighting for, I…”

_“I’m fighting for you right now.”_ he cuts her off angrily. “ _I’m playing by your rules. What do you want me to do? Ignore everything you’ve told me from the first call and rush over there to you? Is that what fighting for you means? ‘Cause I will do it. I’ll do it, Effie.”_

“No.” she counters. “I am just trying to… I am trying to say that… I forgive you for the war.”

_“But not for what came after, right?”_ he laughs bitterly. _“How long is this going to last? How long are you going to make me crawl and grovel? I have my pride too, you know.”_

“I am not trying to… This is not about…” She stops, frustrated and lacking the right words. “You never picked up. You never called. You…”

_“Fuck this, I’m coming over.”_ he cuts her off. _“We’re talking about this face to face.”_

“No.” she pleads. “Please, don’t… We will fight.”

_“We’re fighting right now.”_ he snaps.

“Yes, but there is no danger of you pinning me against a wall.” she argues.

He remains silent for a few seconds and she hears the effort he makes to keep his ragged breaths under control. He’s angry, she thinks, and hurt. _“Was that so bad? ‘Cause I remember you doing your fair share of pushing me against the closest flat surface.”_

“It was good.” she grants, closing her eyes and leaning against the window. “It was the best. Sex was never the problem with us, if it had simply been about sex all along for me… It would have been easier. Do you know how it feels to love someone and to know they will never love you back?”

_“I’m getting a taste of it right now.”_ he deadpans, surprising her speechless. He has never admitted to feelings so bluntly before. _“And you’re not listening, you’re never listening. That’s your problem, you talk and you talk but when it comes down to it, you don’t_ listen _. It’s not because I never said it that I didn’t… Sweetheart, you know. You must know.”_

It’s almost pleading now and she turns her head toward his house, trying to get a glimpse of him. “Why did you never pick up the phone? I _called_. I thought… I thought maybe this time you would pick up and…”

_“I would have picked up if I had known it was you.”_ he sighs. “ _I thought it was Plutarch. It was always Plutarch each time I…”_ He draws out another sigh and she hears the telling splotching of liquor against glass before he chuckles bitterly. _“Maybe you’re right to stay away. How many time did I fail you already? Fuck, Effie… You could have died and…”_

She doesn’t know if he’s talking about prison or the pills. She isn’t sure it’s important.

“I just wanted you to love me.” she whispers. “Not just for the sex but… I _needed_ you to love me.”

“ _We’ll never have sex again then.”_ he replies quickly. _“Would that convince you? Fuck, I just want to hold you…”_

He sounds so desperate… She is not used to this side of him and she wonders if he’s drunker than he pretends. He’s affectionate when he is at a certain level of intoxication, clingy even.

She pulls at a loose thread on her dress and she lets herself think about it. Being held by him. She will melt, she knows. She will melt and burst in tears and let him soothe her worries. At some point they will kiss, because they _always_ end up kissing, and it might be nice and chaste at first but it will soon turn hungry because she hasn’t had sex in over two years and he always lights her skin on fire… He will blow her mind and she will lie there, vulnerable in all the senses of the word, naked in her unfamiliar scarred body, all her insecurities and imperfections bare for him to pry at. It requires trust. More trust than she can give.

“I’m trying to make a life for myself here.” she says. “I just.. I am unsure where to start and I don’t think starting with you is the cleverest thing.”

She spies movement in his living-room, around where the threshold should be, and she figures he has just sat down on the floor. She huddles tighter on the window seat, pretending she’s right there with him, huddling close to his side.

_“It starts by getting out of this Village.”_ he advises. _“There’s a whole town out there, you know. They even have shops. Don’t tell me you don’t miss shopping.”_

She doesn’t ask how he knows she hasn’t left the Village since her arrival. She supposes she must be the prime subject of conversation when he eats with the children.

“I am scared.” she admits.

He doesn’t ask of what. He knows already probably. She’s scared of the way people will look at her, of the way they will react to their former escort living amongst them, shopping in their shops and trying to be friendly to people she used to terrorize. She’s scared it won’t work out and she will have to call it quit, leave and go back to the Capitol where there is no hope whatsoever for her.

_“Take it from me… Living like a hermit isn’t the solution.”_ he offers. _“You shouldn’t go alone anyway, not at first. I’m not saying it’s dangerous but not everyone will welcome you with open arms.”_

“I know.” she grants. “I am not expecting… I understand.”

_“Not everyone will be mean either_.” he tempers. _“You’ve already got Sae in your corner. You’re good at PR, sweetheart, you know what to do.”_

“Play the victors card.” she answers. “Be seen with Katniss and Peeta or even Sae who is a respected member of the community. Go slowly, be nice and friendly. Turn my image around so they associate me with all of you and not with the Games anymore. I should be the rebel escort here.”

_“Exactly.”_ She can hear the smirk in his voice, the soft touch of pride because her plan is the same as his. _“I planted seeds already. Honestly, I think you will be good. Those who don’t like you being here know better than going anywhere near you.”_

She frowns. “Did you threaten people?”

_“Threaten, no.”_ he chuckles. _“I just made sure they understood you’re part of my family. They know not to mess with that. You will be safe out there.”_

He seems happy with himself and she muses he must be bored. During the Games, like it or not, he always had some ways to exercise his brains, be it by guessing what the Gamemakers had in store or helping her – more or less willingly – to figure out the best approach for tributes and sponsors. During the rebellion, he was one of the main strategists. But now…

“What should I visit in town?” she asks distractedly. She doesn’t think there is anything truly worth the visit. Twelve is not the shabby District it used to be but it is certainly not the Capitol either.

_“There’s a clothes shop.”_ he suggest _“You could pick up some things. Winter’s coming soon, you know, and your stuff… I’ve only seen you from afar, sweetheart, but your stuff looks…”_

He’s a bit embarrassed, she thinks, because he’s trying not to offend her any more than strictly necessary.

“Old and frayed?” she finishes, inflecting enough cheer to her voice that he will know she’s not mad.

_“Yeah…”_ he coughs. _“Look, Peeta mentioned… If you need money…”_

“Don’t even go there.” she growls and he wisely falls silent.

_“There’s Sae’s restaurant.”_ he continues instead. “ _She’s good. She can make rat taste like chicken.”_ She gags and he laughs. _“That was before. She doesn’t cook rats anymore. Katniss brings back fresh meat, they have a deal.”_ He must sense she’s not convinced because he chuckles again. “ _She has some vegetables only stuff. She does take-outs too.”_

“It must be revolutionary around here, I am sure.” she snorts. Although it is good to know. Nobody mentioned take-outs. Perhaps they do deliveries too…

_“Yeah, kinda.”_ he answers and, again, she can hear the smirk in his voice. He’s relaxed now, the tension from earlier has slowly faded. _“The restaurant isn’t bad, though. I’ll take you when… I’ll take you.”_

It’s firm, as if he wants to convince both of them that she will get over her fears one day and they will be able to be in each other’s presence again.

“Like a date?” she asks, uncertain.

It’s stupid, she muses. Haymitch doesn’t _date_.

_“Is that what you want?”_ he hesitates. “ _Dates? Do you want me to court you?”_

_So_ _old-fashioned_ , she thinks, _courting_. She doesn’t think he means it in a Capitol gentlemanly way, certainly not like the suitors who would try to get her to accept a date with them or more. Covering her with jewels and lavish gifts is not Haymitch’s style. She thinks he means it more in a District way, like Peeta still does with Katniss. _Courting_ here is a lead-up to a proposal but that’s not really Haymitch’s style either.

_“Effie?”_ he presses.

She’s been silent too long.

“What does that mean exactly?” she asks.

It’s his turn to be silent for too long but she waits patiently, knowing they are on difficult ground for him, knowing he would rather leave everything unacknowledged, and recognizing he is doing a huge effort for her.

_“Not sure, it’s been a while since I’ve courted a girl.”_ he finally admits. _“It means… I show you I like you?”_

“Like.” she repeats flatly.

She can practically hear him roll his eyes. “ _The other L word.”_

“Would that be _lust_?” she jokes.

_“That too.”_ he snorts. _“But that comes at the very end of the courting.”_

She rests her head against the cold pane of the window and fights the silly smile off her lips. It’s only Haymitch that can make her go from furious to sad to deliciously jittery in a second. It is a ridiculous idea and she feels like a teenager with her first crush – although he technically _was_ her twelve’s year old self’s first crush so she supposes it’s fair.

“Court me, then.” she challenges and then she hangs up.

A giggle passes her lips.

For the first time in two years, she thinks maybe she has something to look forward to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes it for this week. Tomorrow is Invictus and on Sunday you will have Human Tokens. Find the next part of this story on Monday! (and let me know what you think about this chapter! Did you enjoy it?)


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello from the outside_  
_At least I can say that I've tried_  
 _To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart_  
 _But it don't matter it clearly doesn't tear you apart anymore_

Courting isn’t as easy as Haymitch remembers it to be, all the more so when he can’t talk to her directly.

He used to be good at this though : charming girls, making them fall in love with him, suffering through a small heartbreak and moving on… Girls have been running after him since he was thirteen… The problem is he only cared enough about someone to go all out once and he was fifteen and a half at the time. What’s cute coming from a teenager is just ridiculous coming from a grown man. He’s self-conscious and rusty and he doesn’t know what to do aside from giving her the space she requires.

He ponders the question one morning as he walks through the woods with Katniss, checking her snares. His hands burrowed deep in his pockets, he’s three seconds away from yielding and asking the girl for help – which is, as he already knows, a stupid idea because Katniss might be even worse at this than he is but going to Peeta is somehow more humiliating than going to Katniss because if anyone should be giving advices about girls, it’s him – when he spies the flowers. They’re a dark pink going on purple and he doesn’t know their name but he knows know they’re not venomous so he picks up a bunch of them and when Katniss lifts an eyebrow, he glares.

“Shut up.” he warns.

She lifts her hands in a defensive gesture but the teasing grin remains on her lips. It’s good to see her smile though so he grumbles but he doesn’t begrudge her the right to mock him. He’s a stupid fool anyway, he can admit it.

He leaves the flowers on Effie’s porch and later that night, Katniss casually mentions she has put them in a vase on the coffee table.

It becomes a thing.

When he goes to the woods with Katniss, he brings back flowers. He gets her favorite chocolates shipped from the Capitol with his liquor. He orders seeds from Eleven of the most colorful flowers he knows for her garden. Every day he leaves something on the porch for her to find.

The kids still smile about it and exchange looks behind his back when they think he isn’t watching that are part fondness and part affectionate mocking.

It comes to the point when the whole Village – and probably the whole District because there aren’t that many people and gossips travel fast – is aware of what is going on. Sae pats his shoulder and flashes him a crooked smile every time they meet, happy that he is, at last, heading her advices about trying to find himself a girl to settle with.

He ignores everything and pretends he doesn’t flushed crimson every time someone catches him in the act of dropping something on her porch.

It’s not much. He’s certain she’s used to more expensive gifts from her Capitol boyfriends but according to Katniss – who always takes pain to sound very detached when she reports these things – Effie loves the wild flowers and the small attentions. She uses them to decorate her house. She’s nestling, the girl affirms.

Peeta is less vocal about the whole thing. He watches with fondness but, Haymitch can’t help noticing, some worry too. With the two of them unwilling to be in the same room, it hasn’t taken long from duos to break out. Katniss tends to spend more time with him, inviting him on walks in the woods and crashing in his kitchen for a while from time to time, whereas Peeta favors Effie’s house, preferring her company to his. He still spends some time with the boy and they’re on very good terms but it’s obvious given the choice he will protect Effie’s heart over his.

After two weeks of this odd and twisted courting, Peeta warms up to the idea when Effie asks him if she can walk to the bakery with him. The first outing is short but the second is longer. By the third time, she is more at ease in town.

Haymitch hears all about it over dinner, pretending not to care too much but eager to hear everything.

In less than two weeks, Effie makes a few friends. The woman who owns the clothes shop is wary of her at first but she’s interested in fashion and they start talking. She calls him one night to tell him all about it and he hears her laughing in genuine joy for the first time in months. He’s happy to let her talk and simply listen as she tells him everything about Selina and her shop and how they planned to meet for coffee at the only coffee shop in town the next day – the fact that they have a coffee shop in Twelve still throws him most days but that’s progress as Peeta likes to remind him – and how she will go alone without Katniss or Peeta there to escort her.

She’s still scared but less so.

He has done his job well. People who still hate her for who she was before the war stay clear of her.

She sounds happy.

She still won’t see him.

One day he comes home to find a big puzzle book in front of his front door, a peace offering of sort he supposes. It’s a three-hundred-and-sixty-five brain teasers thing, one for every day of the year and it makes him smile that she knows he’s bored. He enjoys spending time resolving riddles, finding his way out of complicated mazes or doing crosswords.

Weeks follow weeks and they fall in a routine.

“Do you still have clothes from your Victory Tour?” Katniss asks him one day, as they’re going to the market for groceries. “Effie’s looking for fabrics she could use.”

“There’s no fabrics shop in town?” he frowns. He doesn’t exactly keep up with what is happening in the District. Sometimes it feels as if the rebuilding will never end. The new medicine factory brings a lot of people from other parts of Panem looking for a job or a fresh start and the District, as a consequence, keeps growing. “There’s a booth at the market, I think. She should go.”

“I don’t think she can afford to buy them.” Katniss shrugs. “She doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s rude to talk about money or whatever.” The girl hesitates and then rolls her eyes. “Okay, you didn’t get that from me but I think she doesn’t have much left. She can’t afford new clothes either. Selina tried to give her a discount because they’re good friends now but Effie flipped out and insisted on paying full price when Peeta says if we didn’t feed her she wouldn’t be able to fill her fridge.”

“Say that again when she can hear and she won’t accept anything from you anymore.” he chides her.

“She wants to make herself some clothes, I think. Well, Peeta thinks so.” she amends. “I’ve offered most of what I’ve left but she doesn’t want to touch Cinna’s work. I like it better this way to be honest but she needs warmer clothes. We don’t care about your stylist so do you have anything left she could use?”

He doesn’t go looking into the boxes collecting dust in his attic.

Instead he buys her fabrics. He’s no expert so he blindly trusts the girl who mans the booth, letting her select silks and velvets and flannels and whatever else they have in stock in every colors of the rainbow.  

He watches from his guestroom window as Effie comes home and finds the overflowing boxes in front of her door. He smirks when she places her hands over her mouth in an inaudible gasp and turns to his house. She takes three steps in that direction before she freezes and slowly retraces her steps to her own porch.

He’s disappointed.

He tries not to be but he is.

The phone rings not long after she dragged everything inside so he already knows who is it going to be before he picks up. He doesn’t even have time to say hello.

_“You are completely crazy.”_ She rushes the words out. _“It is too much, entirely too much, and I ought to refuse, I really, really ought to but the silk… Do you know how long it’s been since I saw such pretty fabrics? Oh, the pink silk, Haymitch… Thank you! Thank you… You don’t know how much this means to me.”_

She goes on without even noticing he has yet to answer, telling him all about some dresses she has been sketching and she laughs nervously as she pleads for him not to make fun of her about this but that she will try to sew her own design with the fabrics. He teases her a little anyway but it has more to do with her clownish fashion than her abilities. He knows she will be great at whatever she wants to do because she would never allow herself to be less than that.

He never gets to see the pink dress she makes out of the silk piece because it’s too cold to be out without a coat. He _does_ see the blue and white monstrosity of a coat she creates for herself though – snowflake themed, Katniss tells him later, laughing so hard tears shine in her eyes. To Effie’s credit, it’s a hybrid between Capitol fashion and District more toned down clothes and not as bad as it could have been.

It turns out Selina loves her handmade outfits and offers to sell some in her shop. Haymitch’s first reaction when Peeta tells him is to scoff, certain that nothing _Effie Trinket_ is susceptible to wear will be bought in a _District_.

Clearly, he’s wrong.

She’s very good at what she does. Not only _do_ people buy them but they ask for more and she makes money out of it. She orders a sewing machine, some wooden mannequins and more fabrics from Eight and, in what seems to be no time at all, the District is full of colors and she has a business running. She even gets some local press coverage. It somehow reaches the Capitol and they’re invaded with reporters eager to catch the latest news on the former escort until Haymitch calls Plutarch. Being friends with the Secretary of Communication has its uses. She enjoys the praises and the media attention though.  

He hears her laughing more often when he is in the backyard tending to his geese, but she never crosses the street to share her newfound happiness with him. She hardly ever calls anymore and when _he_ does she’s either too busy or too exhausted from her workday to talk long.

He tries not to hold it against her at first. She’s always driven when her mind is on some new objectives and she’s a workalcoholic, he knows that. He tries not to resent her behavior but it’s difficult.

She doesn’t notice when the small gifts start getting further and further apart or if she does she doesn’t care, so one day he simply stops. When Peeta carefully probes the issue, Haymitch tells him it’s winter and wild flowers don’t grow anymore anyway.

He stops going to the woods with Katniss, he stops trying to cut down on the liquor, he stops selling the geese’s eggs which means his gaggle keeps growing and he should strengthen the pen but he can’t be bothered…

He withdraws inside his house and he locks himself up in his misery, that’s what he knows best anyway. He refuses the kids’ invitations to come over for dinner and he makes it clear he doesn’t want them invading his privacy – that doesn’t stop them, of course. The puzzle book is kicked in a corner of the living-room, out of sight out of mind, and the whole thing is made worse by the fact _she doesn’t even notice_.

Sometimes, when he’s really drunk, he thinks about doing something stupid like walking out in the street and shouting everything he has on his mind. He never does. It seems even his wasted self knows it will only end up in more heartbreak and he needs to protect what is left of his heart.

He watches from the window and it’s like she’s in this bubble where she is happy and he stands right outside the bubble looking in. In his most drunken moments, he thinks they can’t both be in the bubble and be happy at the same time.

He broke her heart once.

Now she smashed what was left of his.

There is a poetic symmetry to be found, maybe.

He doesn’t know who said that trying is better than not having tried at all. That’s _bullshit_.

He’s so miserable he wants to scream all the time.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello, how are you  
It's so typical of me to talk about myself I'm sorry_

Katniss is always blunt, that’s something the girl will never outgrow.

Effie is in a creative frenzy, she has been for weeks, her house is completely taken over by this new project of hers. There are cuts of fabrics everywhere, ribbons and buttons and glitters in every room… She has tried to limit herself to the study that she had turned into a workshop but she needs more room to work and it slowly takes over the whole place. She needs to clean up, she thinks, but she has no time.

Business is going _so well_ …

“Whatever is going on with Haymitch, _fix_ _it_.” Katniss hisses.

The girl doesn’t want to stay for some coffee or tea, she leaves and slams the door behind her and Effie is puzzled about this mood of hers. She’s puzzled about the remark too. She’s tired, high on too little sleep and too much energy to be spent. She has always been like that for as long as she could remember. She needs to fill her time with _something_ , to _consume_ time because she hates inactivity, she hates _silence_ … She never sleeps a lot, too many nightmares and bad memories waiting in the dark. She used to counter that with pills and now she has her sewing to distract her and everyone loves her clothes and Effie loves to be loved. That’s a drug in itself, being praised, being talked about, being _famous_ …

She’s been swept up back into the system and it’s only when the door slams after the girl that she realizes the flowers in the vase on her coffee table are dead and that there are no new ones to replace them.

She doesn’t remember the last time a gift waited for her on her porch.

She doesn’t remember the last time she talked to Haymitch.

She tries to call at once but the phone rings and rings and nobody picks up. It’s odd because she knows he’s home, she can see him moving behind his curtains.

She tries again later but with the same results.

It’s only late at night that he finally picks up, he’s gruff and snappish in his _hello_ and she knows the answer to her question before she asks. “Are you drunk?”

He replies with a nasty set of cackles. “ _Finally remembered I exist, right?”_

“I _do_ apologize…” she sighs. She bits her bottom lip and peers through her window but his living-room is dark. She can’t contain her excitement much longer though and it bursts forth with the news she has been dying to share. She would have told Katniss if the girl had waited for a little while. “You have no idea how _crazy_ it has all been! A shop in Two asked us if we could send some models to them and we did and it _worked_! People love my clothes! _Effie Trinket_ is a brand now, a real brand ! Selina and I are talking about expending the shop. I made some money I want to invest and I actually hired two seamstresses this afternoon to help because the demands are so high and I can only do so much by myself… We are having such tremendous success, Haymitch! But it is not my big news… Do you want to hear my big news?”

Only silence answers her. Silence and the telling splotching of liquor against glass.

She doesn’t let that discourage her though. She’s too happy about it and it has been too long since she has felt _that_ happy.

“Those press articles about my work have made the Capitol curious about me. Caesar asked me if I would go to his talk-show to give him an exclusive interview! And I will take advantage of the situation to see about opening a shop there!” she exclaims. “Wouldn’t that be _grand_ , Haymitch? Can you imagine it? My own shop on Main Street with _Effie Trinket_ in big letters above the door?”

_“You’re going back to the Capitol.”_ he comments.

“Is that all you are taking out of everything I told you?” she frowns, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm.

_“Whatever.”_ he spits out bitterly. _“You know what, Princess, now is not a good time for me so… See you.”_

She opens her mouth but he hangs up before she can say anything else. She blinks when the line rings dead because it is rude and he hasn’t hung up on her once since they’ve started talking again and…

She bits her bottom lip and dials his number again.

It rings for the longest time but she refuses to be ignored. She doesn’t hang up. Eventually, after ten good minutes, he picks up again.

_“What do you_ fucking _want from me, Effie?”_ It’s slurred and so raw it hurts.

“I have been talking only about myself, haven’t I?” she sighs. “I _do_ apologize. How have you been?”

He chuckles. _“Do us both a favor, don’t pretend like you care.”_

She’s taken aback by that. “Haymitch…”

_“I’m a_ fucking _idiot, right?”_ he laughs _“I’ve watched you toy with men for years, I know_ all _your tricks but I fell right into this one face first. You had a good laugh out of this? What was it? Payback? Revenge?”_

“I don’t understand…” she whispers. “Haymitch…”

_“You made me grovel and crawl and I stopped short at_ fucking _serenading you… But it was all a game to you, right? You wanted to humiliate me? To hurt me?”_ He laughs again, hysterical guffaws that sound desperate. _“Good job, sweetheart, good job… Haven’t been that bad in years.”_

“Haymitch…” she insists.

_“No.”_ he cuts her off. _“I tried fighting for you, you know. I fought to get you to Thirteen. Yeah, that blew up in our faces, but I did try. Plutarch wasn’t exactly thrilled about bringing you along, just so you know. And I fought Coin for you. That harpy was trigger happy… I put my life on the line when I threatened to expose her for who she was. And I did that_ for you _. And I tried courting you properly._ Courting _, Effie. That’s as out of the box for me as drinking water at this point. You said I never fight for you but that’s bullshit. I’m starting to see a pattern here. I’m not the one who always gives up on the other. That’s you.”_

The rant is long, slurred and so full of pent up anger she flinches.

“Are you mad because I haven’t called in a while?” she asks. “I was busy, Haymitch! I think I just managed to put my life back on track _at_ _last_. I will go to Caesar’s talk-show and I will…”

_“You’ll do what?”_ he mocks. _“Rise from the ashes? Become a social butterfly again? Force yourself to smile and laugh so people won’t see you’re sad? You hated that life, Effie.”_

“No, I didn’t!” she counters. She can taste the lie on her tongue but she doesn’t understand where it comes from. It was easy then, an easy life made of champagne bubbles and silky dresses… Why is it wrong to want it back? Winter in Twelve is frigid. There is snow and cold blizzard and she struggles everyday with the fireplace because no matter how many times Peeta shows her she can never build the fire properly. Her hands are dry and calloused from jabbing herself too many times with the sewing needle. If this works, if she manages to find partners to invest in a Capitol shop… She will be able to sell her brand _everywhere_ , she will have money to hire people to do the work for her… She wants _easy_ , doesn’t she? Why is it wrong to want this? “You’re just jealous because I’m not at your beck and call anymore.”

_“When were you ever at my beck and call?”_ he scoffs. _“You bossed me around all day long.”_

“You made my life impossible on purpose.” she accuses.

_“Good thing we’re not in each other’s life anymore then, right, Princess?”_ he sneers.

It’s a punch to the chest.

“Don’t say that.” she pleads. “It is not… We are at least friends, aren’t we?”

_“I don’t know, you think about it and you tell me ‘cause I’m tired of trying to figure out what you want.”_ he snaps. _“Enjoy the Capitol, sweetheart. Call me when you know what you want for sure.”_

He hangs up and she’s left staring at his dark house.

They say you always go back to what you know best.

She supposes it must be true because she’s happy but not completely, she still feels as if something is missing and just like that her wish is granted : she feels like the old Effie again, the one who can smile on command and who is so good at pretending to be cheerful, bubbly and a little dumb that she sometimes forgets the public persona isn’t who she truly is.

The children are not thrilled by her announcement that she is going back to the Capitol for a while but she swears she is better now and that there will be no accident and that she will be back in no time at all. Right before she catches her train, she leaves a package on Haymitch’s doorstep. She noticed he is still wearing the coat she had purchased for him before the Quell so she made him a new one. She chose a stormy grey that will suit his eyes and she kept the cut simple like he prefers it. She hopes he will like it.

The Capitol is just as she left it. Not quite the city she remembers from her youth, not quite different.

It’s still all smoke screens and appearances above everything else. In any case she is optimistic and full of hope for her grand projects. When Effie dreams, she always dreams big and so she is already thinking of a designer house with her name on it…

She comes back down to earth very fast.

District people like her designs well enough but the Capitols all snob her. Stylists she has admired all her life and whom she thought would welcome her as one of their own laugh haughtily at her work on TV. _Lacking_. _Simplistic_. _Unimaginative_. _Rustic_. They’re never short of words to talk about her designs. _District_ is the only word they don’t dare utter and the only criticism Effie would have been proud to receive.

They’re still so _haughty_ …

Somehow, people have been so nice and supportive in Twelve that she forgot fashion is such a closeted narrow-minded world.

Her dreams are quickly crumbling to dust even if she does everything she can to bring them to life. She chases after investors from party to party like she used to chase after sponsors and with the very same result.

In the end, she puts all her hopes on her interview with Caesar.

It is a disaster.

Her brand and her clothes are the topic of maybe ten minutes of the hour long interview. She spends the rest of the time dodging questions about her addiction to sleeping pills and her attempt at killing herself – something she still denies – her life in Twelve, the life of the victors the press are forced to leave alone, and her relationship with Haymitch Abernathy because apparently there will always be rumors about the two of them.

When Caesar confides in her on a tone of secrecy that a little bird told him Haymitch is in a habit of picking wild flowers for her, it’s all she can do not to drop her strained smile. She can imagine him cringing in front of his TV, if he’s even watching.

She cries for two hours afterwards.

She thinks about catching the first train for Twelve but it would be admitting Haymitch was right and she’s too proud for that.

She pretends instead.

She’s always been good at this.

She goes to parties and she pretends she enjoys it.

She pretends she’s still the girl who can dazzle a whole room with a smile.

She pretends she didn’t ruin everything because she was too selfish to think of anything but herself and her own personal glory.

It seems she will never learn.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I’m going to break with tradition and post an author note I would like you to read. (although to be fair the problem doesn’t really concern AO3 readers, if you’re on AO3 you can pass ;) )  
> I’m a bit taken aback, not to say slightly shocked by all the negative comments I get about Effie in this story. Effie is, and I quote several reviews, im and anons on tumblr : “mean”, “a bitch”, “selfish”, “heartless”, etc.  
> No? I mean, yes it can be seen that way but Effie isn’t being mean on purpose. She has stated, repeatedly that she isn’t ready for anything with Haymitch until her life is back on tracks or at least halfway there. She has stated that getting better can’t begin with Haymitch and can’t rely solely on Haymitch.  
> Yes, Haymitch got hurt in the last two chapters.  
> Yet he still went two years without going out of his way to contact her, he still left her behind twice - through no fault of his own maybe but that’s debatable from Effie’s point of view, particularly the second time - and he still generally acted like a dick for the most part of their acquaintance and always insisted that their “relationship” was simply about sex.  
> So we basically have a woman who has her flaws, who is selfish and self-centered (always been that way) , who went through a terrible ordeal, has tried to kill herself as a consequence of not being able to go past that ordeal, and who is aware the relationship she used to share with the man she still loves was toxic and unhealthy and almost very well destroyed her. So what does this woman do? She tries to rebuild her life, tries to go past the boundaries she fixed for herself before trying anything new with that man. And she even gives that man a chance by allowing him to court her despite the fact that he had hurt her numerous times in the past.  
> She is busy creating a life for herself so she isn’t exactly the most attentive and yeah, that’s rude and insensitive but, again, she’s a selfish and self-centered person sometimes, something the man is very well aware of (and if you re-read chapter5 actually acknowledges). She is busy building herself back after a traumatizing experience.  
> Rebuilding yourself after a traumatic experience is often about finding your agency back because trauma by definition steals your power, you are not in control of anything anymore, it is stolen from you. This is what Effie is trying to do : getting her agency back, being in charge of her own life, being empowered.  
> And we are all crying over the man who broke her heart, left her behind twice, and never bothered picking up the phone in 2 years.  
> Don’t get me wrong, I love Haymitch. He thought that was what she wanted so he gave her space and placed Plutarch in charge of keeping an eye on her. That’s Haymitch for you: self-sacrificing.  
> But when Plutarch warned him he wasn’t getting through to her, what did Haymitch do? Nothing. He ignored the problem and hoped it would go away by itself, like he often does, until it was too late to do anything. Yes, when Effie walks back into his life, then he tries to take action by cutting down on liquor, trying to make her life easier, and, lately, trying to prove to her that he is serious in his feelings for her. He gives her the space she requires, reluctantly (he still gives her the house in front of his and he still watches her when he can get away with it and he still asks several times if she’s done keeping him at bay) but does he give her time? Chapter 5/6 last a few weeks, a month at most. What’s a month compared with two years of radio silence?  
> So while I do love Haymitch, and I understand where his own insecurities are coming from (he is scared when it comes to feeling, he is scared she’s mocking him because at the end of the day he doesn’t think he’s good enough for her, he has his own issues and his own past traumatic experiences holding him back)… Maybe we should take a step back and realize he is hurting, yes, but she isn’t hurting him on purpose and he isn’t the one with the biggest problems at that point in the story. He, at that moment, is as stable as he is ever going to be. He has a routine, a house, money, the kids, and a hope that he could have Effie back. He still suffers from PTSD, yes, but he has found his own agency back, he has moved past the trauma, it doesn’t define him anymore. He isn’t just a victor, he is Haymitch, a part of Twelve’s community, father figure more than mentor to Katniss and Peeta, he is a neighbor to Sae and some other people…  
> Who is Effie? She is still trying to figure it out.  
> 

_(continuation of author note )_

In short, I love him very much but Haymitch is throwing a tantrum because he is being ignored and it’s more difficult than he thought it would be. And that’s okay. _That’s fine_. Haymitch has been hurt a lot of times, he is insecure when it comes down to feelings, he is truly trying his best but his patience is short and he falls back on his liquor like he has a tendency to do. It’s _okay_ , that doesn’t make him a bad man, just a flawed one, but Effie not being quick in forgiving him and allowing him back into her life doesn’t make _her_ a bad woman.

As for those who think Effie is stupid to want to go back to the Capitol and to her life from before… Of course _we_ know the decision is stupid and _she_ realizes it soon enough. Why does she do it? Because she sees a chance at getting her old life back, her old self back, the self who didn’t go through hardship and duress, who wasn’t broken to pieces, whose body isn’t a foreign mess of scars and hastily patched up wounds. Does she know it’s a stupid idea when she takes the train for the Capitol? On some level, yes, probably. She still needs to go. This is compulsive repetition – which, by the way, is a “symptom” (I’m using quotation marks because the word isn’t quite accurate when talking about something as resistant to definition as trauma) of trauma. Trauma is a circle, a gap. Something is missing from you and you are consciously or unconsciously trying to get it back. It’s tricky and painful and confusing.

I said it up front, this is a story about rebirth. This is a story about getting past a traumatic experience and coming back stronger. I studied trauma literature as a genre, I studied the trauma question and the depiction of trauma on screen. This story took me in that direction and I thought it would be cool to humbly try my hand at that genre myself because the “trauma question” fascinates me.

Honestly, some of the returns I got on this story made me regret ever writing it at all because clearly I did something wrong. People weren’t supposed to take sides for the good reason that there are _no_ sides. Haymitch is hurting, Effie is hurting, everyone is hurting. In different ways, yes. To each their own struggles but… I don’t think blaming Effie for something that is out of her control is very necessary. Haymitch does blame her because Haymitch is locked in his own form of acting out (self-isolation, drinking, lashing out.). The acting out takes a different form in Effie : work, hiding behind a pre-composed more cheerful and clueless persona and thirst for love (that, for her, comes through fame). That’s all she knows. That’s what makes her feel comfortable, safe. She’s trying to find that back. There are patterns in individual manifestations of trauma.

It pains me to see people so angry with Effie in this story just like it would have pained me to see people hating on Haymitch. Let’s be clear I am not advocating Effie is right because she’s a woman. I am not advocating Effie is right at all. I am not advocating either that Haymitch is. I don’t think there is a question of right or wrong, I don’t think it’s even an issue here.

I’m sorry I didn’t manage to convey everything well enough. Clearly this was too ambitious for me.

( _end of author note, thank you if you read)_

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

_I hope that you're well  
Did you ever make it out of that town where nothing ever happened_

Winter is slowly dying into spring when his phone rings for the first time in two months.

It startles him, unused as he is to the sound now. Plutarch finally stopped trying, when he really wants to reach him he calls one of the kids. Most people do that really.

He wanders closer to the phone that keeps ringing, scratching his unkempt beard before rubbing his bloodshot eyes. It’s late and it’s cold. He should build a fire but he’s lazy and so he’s wrapped up in the grey coat he takes everywhere like a stupid memento he can’t bear to part with. His fingers coil around the cold handle of the phone and for a brief second he hesitates.

He’s slowly crawling out of the hole she left him in – or he’s pretending to at least, for the kids’ sakes if nothing else. He’s tired of hearing their reports about cheerful phone calls in which she brags about finding investors, wild parties, luxurious hotel rooms and being so happy she could burst. He’s happy she’s happy or at least he would be if truly believed she was. He hopes she is. He hopes she is doing well. The ugly truth is _he_ is not happy though and he blames her a little for it. It’s her fault because he misses her.

He picks up and waits, ready to hang up if it’s someone he doesn’t want to hear from.

_“Hello_ …” her voice breathes out.

His mouth is fuzzy from a permanent hangover, his head hurts… He’s not sure he’s in the mood for this. However he told her to call only when her mind would be made up and he thinks this is it. There are defining moments in life, he had his share. He knows instinctively this will be one of them.

“Hello, sweetheart.” he echoes. There is a relieved rush of breath at the other end of the line and something that suspiciously sounds like a sob. “You’re okay?” he frowns and when she doesn’t answer, his heart starts hammering inside his chest. “Effie?”

_“I… I don’t think I am fine, no.”_ she stammers. _“Do you remember when you said you wanted to hold me? Just to hold me? I want you to hold me now. I need you to hold me very badly.”_

_I called you before I took the pills_ , she said once. Is it this kind of calls?, he can’t help but wonder.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” he asks. His eyes dart around the kitchen, looking for something that could help but no magical way to teleport to the Capitol appear.

_“No.”_ she sniffs. _“I don’t think so.”_

“You don’t _think_ so?” he scoffs. “That doesn’t mean _shit_ , sweetheart. Are you hurt or not? Where are you?”

It can’t be very late in the Capitol. He glances at the clock, quickly makes the calculation from one time zone to the next and concludes it’s almost noon there.

_“In my hotel room. I just woke up.”_ she says and far from reassuring him it only makes him more nervous because Effie is always up at the crack of dawn. _“Haymitch, I… I am sorry for…”_

_“_ Don’t apologize.” he cuts her off.

_I called you before I took the pills…_

_I wanted to apologize…_

Her words echo in his mind, crystal clear.

_“I need to. I am so stupid, I… I am so sorry for the way I treated you…”_ she stutters. _“I was so scared of… I love you so much sometimes I think it will consume me… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I think I preferred to pretend I had talent rather than face what you were trying to salvage because… Because I was scared.”_

She doesn’t sound coherent. He closes his eyes and licks his lips. “You have talent. People love your clothes. Peeta told me you’re exporting to Three and Four now. You’re going to open that shop in the city…”

She laughs the hollow laugh she had before coming to Twelve. _“Not here. They hate them here.”_ She waits for a second. _“I lied to the children about the Capitol. That’s all I am good at. Lying. To them, to you, to myself…”_

“Effie, did you take something?” he asks because he can’t put it off anymore.

Only silence answers him and he counts the seconds.

_“I am not… I am not trying to…”_ she explains awkwardly.

“To off yourself?” he scoffs. “Good to know. Not what I asked though. Are you taking sleeping pills again?”

_“No_ …” she hesitates.

“But?” he prompts, his patience running thin. He wonders at which time the next train is and in how long he can be in the Capitol if he leaves now. He wonders why he waited so long to stop humoring her so called fear of seeing him.

_“I did something bad…”_ she confesses. _“I think… I think I am high still.”_

He rubs his face. “Yeah, I figured as much.”

_“I am so sorry…”_ she sobs.

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” he snaps and then forces himself to calm down. “How long has this been going on?”

He rummages around his dresser’s drawers for some painkillers and is grateful beyond measure when his hand closes around a bottle of aspirin. He drops one in a glass and adds water while she sniffs and tries to collect herself.

_“It’s the first time, I swear.”_ she offers at last. _“I was at a party and that man offered me some pills and… It was so dull, Haymitch, everything was so dull… I just wanted to feel for a while. Or to stop feeling, I don’t know. I took them.”_

“What was it?” he sighs.

_“Ecstasy_ , _I think_.” she confesses. _“I am sorry. I called you as soon as I woke up. I am… I am stupid, Haymitch, that’s what I am. I thought I was going to get my life back but you were right. I hate this life, I hate this place. I miss you and the children and I miss the Village. I miss Sae’s apple liquor. I miss going to the shop and talking about new pieces with Selina. I even miss complaining about the cold.”_

His plan to catch the next train goes down the drain. “Come back. Now. Pack your stuff and come home, Effie.”

_“I miss the flowers you’d pick up for me_.” she continues. _“Am I too late for that?”_

“Well, it’s winter. No more flowers.” he snorts.

_“I am being serious_.” she whines.

“You think you’re being serious but you’re just high.” he mocks.

“ _Haymitch_ …” she rebukes.

He sighs again and watches the geese in his backyard through the window over the sink. “Not yet. But… Soon it might be. Get out of that city, sweetheart. Nothing good ever happened there.”

_“I miss Twelve.”_ she chuckles. _“Isn’t that the most ironic thing you’ve ever heard?”_

“Not really.” he says. “I’ve heard worse. Are you packing?”

_“In a minute, I am still… Can you still talk of a hangover when it comes from drugs?”_ she asks.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re the vocabulary expert, you tell me.”

_“Well, I suffer from a hangover then.”_ she pouts. _“I need to sleep it off, I think.”_

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he frowns.

_“Yes, I just feel so very stupid…”_ she admits. “ _I thought I had learned my lesson but… Being alone isn’t made for me and I am so lonely here. This city is so… Shallow. How they can bear to still play that game of pretence, I don’t know. Most of them behave as if the war never happened or never changed anything. They still look down at District people and…”_ She sighs. _“It is impossible to live here and not search for something to make it bearable.”_

He listens to everything, grabs a chair and sits down. “The Capitol isn’t good for you. It’s not good for any of us.”

_“I know_.” she whispers.

“Why did you go then?” he scoffs.

_“Because you are right and I am a coward. I didn’t fight for you.”_ she replies. _“I should have… Will you court me again?”_

“I think I’m done with courting.” he answers truthfully. “That’s not me anyway.”

_“May I court you then?”_ she insists. _“Oh, did you find the coat?”_

He instinctively fingers the hem of the heavy coat. It’s a little dirty now because he’s taken to wear it everywhere. “Yeah.”

_“Did you like it?”_ she presses.

_“_ Yeah.” he offers. “Wouldn’t mind some sweaters to go with. My clothes are full of holes.”

_“Oh, I can do something for that!”_ she declares and she sounds genuinely happy at the thought of doing something for him. _“I will make you a whole wardrobe! Only the things you like best, I swear. Even if it’s not truly fashionable.”_

“You’re the one launching fashion around here, sweetheart.” he reminds her.

_“True…”_ she grants. _“But… It is not… It is not the important thing. Being in the Capitol reminded me of this. Fame has its double edge. Somehow, I forgot that.”_

“Well, if it takes ecstasy to remind you, don’t forget again.” he mocks.

_“Don’t joke about… Please, I feel ashamed enough as it is.”_ she says softly.

He waits for a moment but nothing else is forthcoming.

“Come home.” he repeats like a broken record. Or maybe he is begging.

_“Will you take me to Sae’s restaurant soon?”_ she asks _“We should… We should have this date.”_

“More awkward situations? _Sure_ , sweetheart. Why not.” he snorts. It’s not what she wants to hear, he figures. “Did you finally decide if you want to kill me or kiss me?”

_“I told you_ …” she hums. _“I knew from the start.”_

He licks his lips automatically, wishing the thought wasn’t coupled with so much dread. Everything had become too complicated. “You still want me to stay clear of you?”

There is a long silence. _“I… Can we talk about this when I am back? I think… I think I understand now. You had the right idea with meeting halfway. It can’t be all you or all me. We need a middle ground and… We should talk about this when I am back.”_

But will they talk about it face to face or on the phone? He wants to ask and somehow lacks the courage. “You feel better now?”

_“Yes. I… Yes.”_ she answers and it doesn’t matter than he can’t see, he knows she’s nodding. _“I will pack now and catch the earliest train. I don’t mind if I have to catch three connections, I just want out of the city.”_

“Okay.” he shrugs. “Stay safe, sweetheart.”

_“I will.”_ she promises.

He stands up to hang up. “See you soon then.”

In a manner of speaking at least.

_“Goodbye.”_ she whispers. _“Haymitch?”_

It comes as he is about to put the phone back on its cradle and he brings it back to his ear with a frown. “Yeah?”

_“I love you.”_ she says and then there is a click and the line rings dead.

It’s funny, he thinks, how much hope there can be in three little words.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_It's no secret that the both of us  
Are running out of time_

The train pulls in at Twelve’s station in the middle of the night and Effie is the only one to step out. She struggles with her luggage, exhausted, hungry and thirsty. There are no direct trains between Twelve and the Capitol and it took her almost a day and a half to make the trip, jumping from train to train and from District to District, trying to find the quickest route.

The night is freezing and dark.

She purses her lips and starts on the long twisting path to the Village, wishing someone was there to help her. There is no heavy coat of snow anymore, that’s the good news. The bad is that there are patches of ice and puddles of melted snow and that she slips twice and almost breaks an ankle three times on her way to her house.

She’s completely frozen by the time she reaches her street and the house is cold and uninviting. She loses no time in switching on all the lights, relieved when the darkness and the demons hiding within recede. She leaves her suitcase in the hall and hurry to the living-room. The logs of wood are humid and her fingers are stiff, the fire doesn’t catch. Water must have frozen in the pipes because she can’t get anything from the taps either and in the end she sits on her bed, defeated and with chattering teeth.

She wraps herself in her blankets but she keeps on shivering, unable to shake out the sharp cold in the house.

She’s too tired, exhaustion makes her bones heavy. Her body doesn’t seem to have registered she isn’t on a train anymore because she still feels the light rocking of the car and she just wants to drink something because her mouth is parched, swallow something solid to settle her stomach, lie down and go to sleep.

There is no food in the kitchen, no water, and no warm place to sleep.

She doesn’t quite know where she is going when she wanders back outside, still wrapped in her blankets but her feet carry her to Haymitch’s door and she doesn’t let herself hesitate when she steps inside, not really surprised to find it unlocked. Her first stop is the kitchen. The taps work here and she throws back two full glasses of water before her eyes fall on the bread abandoned on the counter. She devours half the loaf standing up at the counter and peering at the backyard.

His house is in complete disarray and the smell isn’t pleasant but she wanders upstairs anyway, careful not to knock anything on the way. She hears him snoring way before she reaches his bedroom and she relaxes, knowing that snoring means he is drunk and that he probably won’t wake up even if she were to start playing drums.

Haymitch is lying on his stomach, in the middle of the bed, the covers kicked around his knees. He’s wearing a long sleeve shirt and plaid flannel sweatpants that she thinks she must have purchased for him long before Katniss volunteered. She slowly toes off her shoes and adds her blankets to the already respectable amount of them on the bed, tucking them back to his chin.

His eyelids lift halfway and then drop again when she climbs in with him carefully, sighing in contentment at the sudden warmth. She remembers to reach under the pillow for his knife and to place it on the nightstand before closing her eyes and finally succumbing to sleep.

She drifts awake a little later when an arm wraps around her waist and drags her closer to a warm body but when she glances over her shoulder she sees he’s still asleep so she simply burrows back into him. It’s toasty under the covers, almost too hot, but she savors it until sleep claims her again.

When she wakes up next she knows at once something is different. There is no arm around her waist and no warm body pressed against hers. Her eyes fly open and she props herself on her elbow, searching the room for…

“I’m here.”

She looks over her shoulder and here he is – which she could have told from the dip in the mattress if she had thought for two seconds really – lying on his side over the covers, a few inches away from her. She rolls on her other side to face him, thinking this is more awkward than it should be and it is all her fault.

“So…” he hesitates. “Did you finally decide you were going to kill me and you chose heat stroke as your murder weapon? Clever. Leaves no traces.”

There are sweat rings under his armpits and his forehead is clammy. She’s equally drenched but she doesn’t mind. It beats the cold.

“My house was freezing.” she explains uncertainly. “And… I was cold. So I thought…”

She’s uncertain and tentative when she would have liked to be confident and empowered. It figures, she thinks, that their reunion would take place in a bed. She never took the time to change into pajamas and she can feel her white skirt is bundled around her upper thighs and her pink blouse is wrinkled beyond repairs, her hair must be wild and the make-up is more than probably smudged. In short, she is ugly which isn’t something she ever wants to be in front of him.

She bits her bottom lip and drops her eyes, feeling stupid.

He’s wary when he reaches out, he cups her cheek and his thumb gently pries her lip free of her teeth. When she doesn’t protest he grows bolder and lightly retraces her features, trailing his fingers from her cheekbone to her brow and down the bridge of her nose before going up again to roam down her other cheek and ending up on her mouth.

Suddenly, she’s too hot and dizzy and it’s all she can do to kick the covers a little. His eyes dart down and darken and she blushes when she realizes a few buttons have popped open and her bra is visible. So are two of her scars.

He reaches for the one on her collarbone but she recoils instinctively.

“I… Sorry.” she whispers.

“It’s okay.” he says softly, as if not to spook her and he places his hand on her shoulder instead, seeking her gaze. “Good?”

She nods and scoots closer, kicking the covers further down until her legs aren’t tangled in them. He understands what she wants at once and wraps his arms around her. The embrace is as intimate as it gets, she traps his upper leg between hers, locks her arm around his torso, sneak her hand under his shirt so she can feel his warm skin under her palm and buries her face in his neck, her nose pressed against his Adam apple, his beard scratching her forehead… He draws out a breath that is all relief and satisfaction and he rests his head against hers, breathing the smell of her shampoo and _her_ and she can’t begrudge him the right because he reeks of cold sweat – which is her fault, she guesses – but it’s the best thing she has smelt in a while. It’s familiar and _him_ and it drives her mad and she almost bits his Adam apple because she knows it will drive _him_ mad and turnabout is fair play.

That’s what she has been afraid of all along. She can’t help herself when he is so close. Her brain turns to mush and she is controlled by her impulses and urges. It doesn’t take much to nuzzle his jaw and bring their face closer, to brush her lips against his and…

“You’re sure you want this?” he asks, his voice rough and low in all the right ways. She knows he feels her shiver. She can feel him starting to get aroused against her stomach. “You wanted…” He licks his lips with a pained face and she knows it must cost him to say those words. “You wanted to take this slow. Date and _shit_. You kiss me now… I’m not sure I have that much self-control, sweetheart. Not when you’re in my bed, all tousled hair and so warm…” He shrugs a little, glancing away, obviously embarrassed. “Thought I was dreaming at first.”

“I’m right here.” she promises, drawing silly patterns on his back.

He is right though and she _wants_ to take it slow, she wants… She’s not sure what she wants anymore. She wants some sort of _balance_ in her life, that’s all she knows.

She thinks she wants _everything_ but that’s a scary thought.

“You didn’t take anything else, right?” he asks suddenly.

The question shouldn’t hurt but it does and she rests her forehead against his shoulder. “No. It was just once, I promise. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t want to relapse. I don’t want to… I felt lonely. I am better here. I will be alright in a few days.”

He runs his fingers in her hair in a soothing fashion that she has missed _so_ _much_.

“You’re not alone.” he rasps out. “You’re _never_ alone. Anything you need…”

There are a lot of things to answer to that but it’s heavy and she doesn’t want _heavy_ this morning. She wants light and happy and she doesn’t have to force herself too much to sound cheerful.

“Well, I _do_ need a few things as it so happens…” she grins. “Borrowing your shower for starters, and your kitchen too because mine is desperately empty. And if you could drop by my house because I have _no idea_ how to fix the frozen water in the pipes and I couldn’t light a fire for the life of me…”

“Bossy.” he comments but she hears the smile in his voice.

_She’s happy_.

The thought comes unbidden but is too powerful to be ignored.

She’s safely locked in his arms, warm in his bed and she’s happy.

Maybe that’s what she was afraid of all the while.

“Your geese make a racket.” she frowns, suddenly realizing the loud honking is coming from his backyard.

“They’re hungry.” he shrugs, still playing with her hair and very much busy undoing the half collapsed fancy hairdo she tied it in the previous day. He likes it loose, she knows. He loves it for some reason. “It’s late.”

“Late?” she repeats, peeking over his chest at the alarm clock on his other nightstand. “Oh, my! It _is_ late!” It’s almost noon and she absolutely needs to curb this tendency of hers for late nights and late mornings. The world belongs to early risers or so her father always said. “We should…”

“We should stay here and make the most of it.” he finishes for her, tightening his hold.

“But the children will wonder where I am!” she protests without much conviction.

“Ten minutes.” he bargains and how can she say no when his fingers are tangled in her hair? She settles against him, she closes her eyes and without meaning to, she falls asleep again.

It’s early afternoon by the time she wakes up but Haymitch is still there, his arms still firmly around her. She lets out a noise that is halfway between a hum and a whine as she stretches, covering her face with her hands.

“I think I was more tired than I thought.” she apologizes.

“’T’s okay.” he slurs and she thinks maybe she’s not the only who fell back asleep.

Just watching him makes her smile and she presses a kiss on his cheek before she can think twice about it only to make a face. “You need to shave.” It’s such a recurring argument he simply rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. Her blue eyes linger on them and then she pushes herself up, intending to get out of bed. His arms immediately tighten around her waist, holding her back. She frowns. “I _really_ want a shower, Haymitch.” She wrinkles her nose at her own smell. “I _need_ it badly.”

“What happens after?” he asks, tensed and a little dreadful.

She wants to play dumb but he knows her too well and she owes him better than that. She licks her lips and entwines their fingers together. “We… try? Properly, this time. It can’t be just… It can’t be just about sex or…”

“Will you _stop_ with that?” he snaps. “If I just wanted sex I would find someone else. Really, sweetheart, you’re too much of a pain in the ass to bother if all I wanted to do was get laid.”

“I know.” she admits. “I just… I need to build the trust back. I need… I need to be certain you won’t leave me again. I need to be certain you _do_ love me.”

He sighs and flops on his back, releasing his hold on her waist. “I’m back to picking up flowers, right? You know people _laugh_ at me? Caesar didn’t help. _Thanks_ for that, by the way.”

“You don’t have to give me flowers.” she grants, smiling a little at the unhappy pout on his lips. “We will just… We will take it slowly if that’s alright with you. We can… We can do some things together, have dinners and watch TV and do things other couples do? I am not deluding myself in thinking we will ever be _normal_ but… We can’t be like we were. We were destroying each other, Haymitch, it was… It was too much.”

She waits for him to argue but he just brushes her hair away from her face. “Can we sleep together?”

She looks down at their entwined hands, her heart racing in her chest. Does she want to sleep with him? Yes. _A thousand times yes_. But she’s not sure she is ready yet. Her body is different, scarred and injured in some places, less pliant, less attractive…

“I mean _sleep,_ sweetheart.” he clarifies, his free hand briefly coiling around her nape.

“Oh.” She blushes, embarrassed that her mind went straight to the gutter. “I suppose so. Sometimes.”

“Okay, then.” he shrugs. “We try.”

He doesn’t say what they are both thinking : it better works this time because a relationship can only linger in limbo for so long. They’re running out of time.

She escapes to his bathroom and the shower, shuddering at the state she finds it in. She spends fifteen minutes cleaning before she finally takes her shower and the hot spray of water is so good she lingers longer than she meant. He’s gone when she steps back in the bedroom, clad in a white towel. She rummages in the drawers until she finds a flannel shirt, it falls to her mid-thighs and she leaves the first two buttons open, rolling up the sleeves to her elbows, before borrowing brown woolen socks and sauntering down to the kitchen.

She doesn’t expect the children to be here, sitting at the table with Haymitch. Everyone freezes except Haymitch who goes on drinking from his steaming cup of coffee.

“This is very much not what it looks like.” she squeaks, embarrassed beyond words.

“This is very much not our business.” Katniss replies with an absolutely disgusted face.

“Don’t get your panties into a twist, Princess…” Haymitch drawls before wriggling his eyebrows. “If you’re even wearing any…” Both of the children make agonizing sounds. “I told them you got back late and your house was freezing so you crashed in my guestroom.”

It is not surprising the children don’t believe a word of this.

“You should have come to our house, Effie.” Peeta has the nerves to tease.

“I didn’t want to wake you and Haymitch is the only person I know who never locks his door.” she retorts.

“So you’re good with seeing his face again?” Katniss confronts, always so blunt.

“Why, dear, I don’t know what you mean.” she hums and they all leave it at that.

It turns out frozen water in the pipes isn’t the problem, Peeta simply turned the water off when she left exactly to prevent such a thing.

As for the fireplace, Haymitch always manages to light it up even when she fails and is never short of taunts to tease her about it.

A new routine falls into place, a routine she loves dearly. She works at the shop with Selina, they decide to expend the shop and rent a nearby building as a workshop, they hire several seamstress and before she understands what happened, Effie is at the head of a factory.

She does _prêt-à-porter_ and not _haute-couture_ but she thinks she likes it better this way. Fashion, she tells Haymitch and the children very seriously over dinner, should be accessible to everybody for an affordable price. The more hers and Selina’s business develop, the more popular they are in the District: the factory brings more job opportunities and they’re well liked because they’re generous and nice with their staff. She doesn’t know if people _forget_ she used to be an escort but in any case they learn to put it aside.

She’s careful about not letting her job rule her life again. She tries to keep regular hours and she doesn’t let success run to her head when the press gets interested once more after they start exporting to Six and Seven.

By summer, the _Effie Trinket_ brand is available in all Districts and it’s a tremendous hit. Caesar asks her about another interview but she shoots him down. She’s happy in Twelve.

She and Haymitch take it slow, so slow it could be called a snail pace – which is a little ironical because they spend most of their time together. Sometimes he surprises her with lunch at work, always grumbling about it as if it’s a huge inconvenience because he’s a little too aware her seamstresses and Selina think he is adorable – and he does _not_ like being called adorable. With springs, wild flowers start making their apparition in vases around her house again. She smiles and thanks him with a kiss on the cheek every time he brings her back some. She makes him the promised complete wardrobe and he complains a little about some of the pieces but she knows he likes everything and that’s the main point.

They generally spend their evenings together. He does his puzzles or read a book while she sketches new clothes or watches a movie. They usually end up curled up on the couch. They fight but that’s expected, they bicker and banter and make the children uncomfortable with their innuendos and they laugh about it afterwards. Sometimes – most times – they go to sleep in the same bed. They have yet to do more than cuddle or kiss on the cheek but they’re not in a hurry, they’re taking their time rediscovering each other, learning to _be_ together in other ways than just the physical aspect of things.

He drinks less.

She smiles more.

The day she and Selina finalize the deal with Nine – the last District they didn’t yet have a foot in – he takes her out to Sae’s restaurant to celebrate. He doesn’t say if it’s a date and she doesn’t ask. She puts on the pink dress she has created out of the silk he gifted her with a year earlier, she does her hair and carefully applies her make-up and decides she will kiss him tonight. She will let him do everything else he wants to do too. She has been back in Twelve for three months and she isn’t scared anymore.

She found her place.

He picks her up at her door and he’s so awkward in the suit she has made for him – no tie but a waistcoat – for special occasions that she can’t help but giggle before they’re even at the end of the street. The children often insist they’re completely ridiculous. She tends to agree.

Sae insists on putting a candle on their table when they arrive and Effie laughs again at his horrified face. He scratches his stubble – the beard had to go and she made a stand on that front early on – and mumbles something about how she can have her candles if she wants them, even if they’re too old for dinner at candlelight.

“No one is ever too old for romance, Haymitch.” she grins.

She orders red wine as a compromise even if she prefers white.  

He’s all charm that night. Smirks and gibes that she matches with her own. Their flirting is a familiar dance she’s only too happy to revisit. At some point, over the chocolate cake they share for dessert, she starts playing with his fingers over the table and, after a few seconds, he turns his palm and entwines them.

All she can think is that they are holding hands on the table for everyone to see.

They have never done that before.

When she looks around though, she quickly concludes no one is paying attention for the good reason that no one cares. They’re not the mentor and the escort anymore. Here they are only Effie and Haymitch, the owner of the factory and the guy who sometimes sells geese eggs when he doesn’t forget. People know _them_ not the public personas they used to pull, and it’s better, it’s _perfect_. Nobody cares what they do. Holding hands won’t get them killed.

Haymitch doesn’t look around once.

He stares at her.

He stares at her with this dark spark in his eyes that speak of lust and desire and that lights a familiar answering fire in her belly.

He doesn’t let go of her hand when they leave the restaurant. They take the long way around, and stroll along the meadow. Three years after the war, the grass is green and there are a lot of wild flowers, there is no trace of the mass graves underneath.

Life has a way of always prevailing.

She used to be one of the mass graves, she thinks, and now she is like the meadow.

She squeezes Haymitch’s hand. “I love you.” She hasn’t said it since the day she left the Capitol for the second – and hopefully last – time. They have never discussed it. “And you love me.”

She says it firmly, without the slightest trace of hesitation. He won’t ever utter the words, she knows – the words belong to his past, to his family and his girl, it’s the last thing he told them and she can understand why he physically _can’t_ say them again because she’s still terrified of the dark, she’s still terrified of a lot of things that would seem harmless to anyone else – but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t _feel_ them, that doesn’t mean she can’t utter them for him.

He stops walking without warnings and it’s their linked fingers that hold her back. She lifts an inquisitive eyebrow but he doesn’t answer that, he brushes the back of his free hand against her cheek before turning it to cup her face.

“Finally caught up, haven’t you?” he taunts, with some fondness. “No wonder you’re the brains in this relationship…”

She laughs despite herself and whacks his chest. “ _Awful._ Your manners are _helpless_. _”_ She leans into his palm all the same, pressing her lips against the inside of his wrist. “You don’t make a lady wait, Haymitch, it’s rude.” she whispers, looking at him from under her eyelashes.

“Ah.” he snorts. “Can’t have that.”

He leans in and she closes her eyes when their lips brush together. On several levels, it feels like a first kiss, on others, it’s like they never stopped doing this. It’s innocent enough at first but it picks up quickly, just like she always knew it would. Soon, his fingers are tangled in her hair and the kiss turns hungry, impatient.

She breaks it out of sheer will.

“Let’s go home.” she murmurs against his mouth. “Take me to bed.”

The words make him quiver in anticipation and she doesn’t think they’ve ever made it so quickly from the meadow to the Village. They’re kissing again way before they crash against her front door and she hopes none of their neighbors saw that.

They stumble and trip throughout the house to her bedroom and that’s an even more familiar dance, something she craves and dreads all at once. When she’s not clad in pretty pink silk anymore and her damaged body is exposed to his gaze, she flinches, waiting for a judgment that she knows, rationally, he won’t give if only because he is not the sort of men who cares about scars and loss of weight – but he _is_ a man still and attraction is everything and she doesn’t think she could bear it if he doesn’t desire her like he used to anymore.  

She worries over nothing, of course.

He kisses and licks and cherishes every of her scars, down to the tiniest one on her ankle. She’s in tears halfway through but he kisses those away too. He doesn’t suggest they stop but she doesn’t want to anyway, her only request is that they go slow because it has been three years now and months of torture in between.

She realizes when he gently nudges her legs open that, maybe, a part of her has also been scared of _this_. Not just the whole problem of _Haymitch_ , but the act itself. Maybe she has been scared it wouldn’t be good anymore, not with her body patched together like a broken doll. She trusts Haymitch now, trusts him completely, but she’s still apprehensive and he has to tell her twice to relax. When it doesn’t work, he simply slides down the bed and distracts her with burning kisses on her inner thighs.

Again, she’s wrong to be scared.

It’s _good_ , _more_ than good, and by the time he manages to make her wriggle and scream with his mouth, she’s completely relaxed and ready for him. More than that, she’s _eager_.

Later, when she collapses on his chest, too exhausted to move despite their sweaty skins and the fact that she’s probably crushing him, she presses a kiss against his heart.

“Promise me something.” she requests.

“I’m not good at promises.” he reminds her, tangling his fingers in her hair.

“Promise me anyway.” she insists, propping her chin on his chest. “Promise me and then I will do the same.”

He lifts his eyebrows and chuckles. She feels their low rumble under her breasts where it echoes in his chest. “You want to exchange oaths, sweetheart? Where are the rings?”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t comment because in her opinion, they are past rings and oaths and bread toasted in the fireplace.

“We should promise to each other to always fight for the other and to never let our time run out.” she declares. “Never. No matter what happens, no matter the situation… We will never give up on each other, we will never leave the other behind.”

“In sickness and in health? Rich or poor? Now and until death do us apart?” he teases with a smirk.

“I am serious, Haymitch.” she hisses, scratching his side with her nails in a way that is less playful than demanding.

“Me too.” he replies.

And he is.

It’s on his face, in his voice, in the way he gently brushes the hair away from her face.

“Alright.” she breathes out. She doesn’t know where the lump in her throat comes from but it’s here and it’s not going away. “I promise. Do you?”

“I promise.” he repeats.

There is a moment of silence that is less solemn than slightly shocked.  

“You should kiss the bride.” she prompts after a few seconds.

“You’re no bride.” he scoffs but pulls her up all the same to kiss her before rolling them over so he’s the one on top. She squeals, surprised by the move but soon starts laughing only for it to be muffled by his lips again.

“I’m so happy I could burst.” she whispers.

“Good.” he says, dropping a soft kiss on her chin. “Stay that way.”

“As long as you stay with me.” she grins. “We are never separating again.”

That’s an oath they keep to their last breath.

**THE END**

**And Merry Christmas!**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you think? Let me know!


End file.
